


Special Delivery

by sara_holmes



Series: Puzzle Pieces [8]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abandoned baby, Avengers Family, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Humor, Kid!Fic, M/M, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, accidental parent Clint Barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 22:06:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 52,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10773405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_holmes/pseuds/sara_holmes
Summary: With most of the team away on missions across the globe - or further - Tony and Clint are left to keep an eye on Arto. Or maybe Tony is left to keep an eye on Clint and Arto. Either way, it was going to be a pretty easy - if not boring - few days.That is, until a FedEx guy drops off a baby in the lobby. That's gonna make things slightly more complicated.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally entitled Clint Barton and the FedEx baby until we found one more puntastic. I'm not even sorry.

It’s been precisely two hours and three minutes since Steve and Bucky left for the ass-end of Myanmar, and Tony is not at all surprised to have his workshop invaded by both Arto and Clint. He hears them coming from a mile away, their voices loud on the stairs, and he’s tempted to have Jarvis lock down the doors and turn on the soundproofing for the level because he’s got shit that needs to be done.

He doesn’t. Just waits for the inevitable hiss and slide of the doors, and the loud boisterous voices coming in.

“Do not touch anything,” he immediately calls. “I mean it today!”

“Dad, I’m _bored,_ ” Arto announces like it’s all Tony’s fault. “So is Clint.”

“We have been on our own for literally two hours,” Tony says, giving the electronics in front of him a forlorn look. “Go play video games or something.”

“Steve and Bucky are in Myanmar,” Arto says, like Tony doesn’t know. “Sam, Coulson and Nat are in New Jersey. Rhodey and Pepper are in California, and Lilya, Jane and Thor are in Asgard. We are the _only people_ in the Tower.”

“What’s Bruce, chopped liver?” Tony says, nudging Arto with his elbow. “Go bug Bruce, he’s not the one trying to miniaturize MRI technology.”

“I thought he’d risked the Bifrost and gone with Lilya,” Clint says, rifling through the drawer in the cabinet labelled _‘Hawkeye’s ears.’_ “Did you finish my new BTE’s?”

“No he didn’t, and no I’m busy,” Tony says, turning his head as Arto wanders over to pick up the helmet of the Mark twenty-one. “Oh come on. I’m trying to work actually on something that needs working on. Pepper will be proud. Or she will be, if you leave me alone so I can finish it.”

“But we’re bored,” Arto repeats,setting down the helmet and walking over, leaning over Tony’s shoulders. He smells of boy and sweat and cheetohs, and Tony pulls a face and tries to push him away.

“Go and shower, Art. Come on, we’ve talked about this. Hormones do not smell great.”

“I showered yesterday,” Arto says grumpily into Tony’s shirt.

Tony looks over at Clint, who just spreads his hands and shrugs.

“But you’re wearing the same shirt you were wearing pre-shower, so it doesn’t count,” he explains, with far more patience than he thought he’d be able to. “Today is a brand new day and you’re stinking up the workshop,” Tony says. “Shower, change and then call Omari and Peter, we’ll do movie night and pizza.”

Arto perks up at that. “Really?”

“If Barton will go out to Westchester to fetch Omari then yes,” Tony says, and Clint shoots him a thumbs up. “And only if you shower, come on, what is this? Am I running a drop in for homeless people? Or is this some sort of political protest? We will not be clean until someone cleans the bathrooms at Denny’s?”

“They’ll never clean the bathrooms at Denny’s,” Clint snorts. “Adds to the flavor.”

“Aaand now we’re never going for three AM breakfasts again,” Tony says, leaning forwards a little under Arto’s weight. He’s fifteen and growing like a weed; it’s as if the super-serum in his blood has suddenly realized it’s there and is taking him from shrimp to super-soldier size as quickly as it possibly can. Either that or puberty has catalyzed it, incurring some horrifying emotional side-effects as it does. “Art?” he says patiently, bracing his hands against the edge of the workbench. “Buddy? You’re kind of heavy, pal.”

“Am not,” Arto scowls, and Tony lets out an ‘ooft’ as he plants his palms on Tony’s back to push himself up. “Fine, whatever. You never make anyone else shower.”

“That’s because no-one else smells like teenage boy,” Tony tells him flatly. “Go. Be clean. Then I’ll fetch Parker myself.”

“Whatever,” Arto says, pushing away from Tony and skulking away.

Tony rolls his eyes hard enough to hurt, before leaning back in his chair and shouting back after Arto’s retreating form. “Clean clothes! I mean it, or I’ll declare that shirt a biohazard!”

He blows out a breath and looks at Clint, who is busy trying not to laugh. “Teenagers, would not recommend.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Clint says. “Does he really smell that bad?”

“You’re immune. Either you spend too much time with him or you need a shower yourself,” Tony says and groans. “If I pay you in pizza, will you babysit this evening? I want to get this finished and I’m not sure I trust those three unattended.”

“Sure,” Clint shrugs. “Not like I’ve got a lot to do while Bucky isn’t here.”

“Team stay-at-home-husbands,” Tony says, holding up a hand.

Clint snorts and obliges him with a high-five. “Still weird,” he says, even though he and Bucky have been married for almost as long as Steve and Tony have. Four years by now, as if Tony didn’t feel old enough. “I don’t feel like a husband.”

“That’s because you two only got married to stop SHIELD separating you when you inevitably end up in medical,” Tony says dismissively.

“And _you_ only got married for tax reasons,” Clint shoots back, and Tony grins. “Alright, I’ll go make sure he’s in new clothes and take him to pick up the others. Can I take your car?”

“Sure, on the proviso that you don’t get caught speeding with my child in it,” Tony says. “Guess there’s less chance of you breaking down on the way if you take my car.”

“You leave my car out of this,” Clint says sternly, and yawns widely. “Bessie has served me well. Alright, I’ll round up the troops.”

“Thanks,” Tony says, already turning back to the circuit board in front of him. It’s definitely small enough for the specs, but he still needs to find some way to make an energy transfer from point a to point b without it shorting itself. Typical shielding would work, but then the size would go up to over what he guaranteed in the concept meeting…

It’s so easy to lose himself in his work, and he does so willingly. Gone are the days where he’d be half concentrating and half worrying or thinking about Arto - the rest of the team have proven time and time again that they’re more than capable of helping to look after him. Clint in particular is like Arto’s third parent slash big brother, and even Bucky is great with Arto now they’ve learned to actually get on instead of tolerating each other for Steve’s sake.

It’s an hour which feels like two minutes later that he’s drawn out of his work once again, this time by a soft beeping alarm and Jarvis’s voice coming to him through the speakers in the ceiling.

“Sir, there is a situation in the lobby. I have taken the liberty of sealing off all entrances to the Tower. Your presence is required.”

Tony is out of his seat before he fully registers the words. He throws his hands out and at once the Mark twenty-two comes flying straight to him, surrounding him in red and gold metal. He waits for all the pieces to lock in position, caching the helmet out of the air before rushing to the elevator.

“Jarvis, fill me in,” he says tersely, watching the numbers smoothly flick downwards. “Is Arto back?”

“No, they have not yet returned. I can trace the car, if you wish?”

“Do it,” Tony says curtly. “What’s going on?”

“A package has been left at the security desk, and it is causing some concern,” Jarvis tells him.

“Shit,” Tony curses, willing the elevator to go faster. “You’re meant to scan for bombs!”

“I do, and I did,” Jarvis replies far too calmly. “The package does not contain any materials which could be dangerous. I believe the contents are organic in nature.”

“What?” Tony says, not sure he’s heard right. “Has someone dumped some kittens in the lobby or something? Give me visuals J. Bruce? Bruce, can you hear me?”

Bruce’s voice comes straight to him, sounding wary. “Yeah, I’m here. What’re the alarms for? Clint doing something dangerous again or something we actually need to worry about?”

“Suspicious package, apparently not a bomb,” Tony says, peering at the holographic image that Jarvis throws up for him. All he can see is a crowd of people round the security desk, which isn’t helpful. “I’m going down to check it out.”

“I’ll meet you down there,” Bruce says at once. “Where’s Arto?”

“Out with Clint. It’s just me, you and SI employees in here right now,” Tony says, heart thudding in the base of his throat as the elevator lets him out on the ground floor. The atrium is in chaos; all of the doors have been sealed so of course everyone is panicking. Over by the security desk Tony can see Tulio in his head-of-security uniform, pointing and talking to the assembled gaggle of people. He’s clearly trying to keep everyone calm and he’s managing it to a certain degree. There’s no screaming or attempts to break out, at least.

“Whoa, I think protocol is to not crowd around the suspicious package,” Tony yells, pulling the helmet on but keeping the faceplate flipped up. Quite a few people jump at the sound of his voice; either he’s too loud or they weren’t expecting Iron Man to jump out of the elevator. “Tulio, what is going on?”

Tulio disengages himself from the crowd, half running over to Tony. “Uh, some Fed-Ex guy came in and said he had a package,” he says. “He put it down and then just ran for it, got away from us. We were going to call an immediate security alert, but...”

“But what?” Tony asks, striding over to the crowd. “Man plays drop-package-run then you call it in, that’s definitely what I would call-”

He stops talking as the crowd parts, all words knocked out of him. On the floor is a huge open box, filled with blankets, and standing next to it is their receptionist Julia, and Julia is holding a sleeping baby in her arms.

Tony stares, and stares some more. He takes in what is visible among the wrap of yellow blankets: a head topped with a surprising amount of dark hair, a tiny hand curled into a fist next to a chubby cheek, tiny delicate features all relaxed in slumber. He continues to stare, and then remembers how to make words, though they come out rather strangled. “Please for the love of everything with the Stark name on it, tell me that that baby did not come out of that box.”

“She did, boss,” Tulio says apologetically.

“Uh, so did this,” a young man says, holding out a piece of paper. _Graham_ , Tony thinks distantly. A software developer hired eighteen months ago. Not that he cares about the names of any of his employees right at this exact second, because that’s right, there’s a baby been abandoned in the freaking lobby. Oh god, Steve is going to shit a brick when he hears about this one. You take in one unwanted kid one time nine years ago and suddenly you’re the go-to drop off point for unwanted babies? That’s something that needs to be put in check, poste-fucking-haste.

Tony takes the paper but as he does there’s a loud banging sound; everyone whips around and someone even screams. Thankfully, there’s no need for the renewed panic; Tony spots Clint, Arto, Peter and Omari all crowded together at the door, looking confused. Arto scowls and bangs on the glass again and Clint spreads his arms apart in an approximation of _‘what the actual fuck?’_

“Oh my god - do none of you know security protocol around here?” Tony yells, and waves at Tulio. “Jarvis, Tulio, let those idiots in.”

“Tony?”

Now well on the way to having a stress-induced heart-attack, Tony looks up as Bruce appears, looking even more confused than he was earlier. “Is that a _baby?_ ”

“What the hell is going on?” Clint calls across the lobby, ushering Arto and the kids in. The only one looking remotely worried is Omari; Tony can see he’s fighting the urge to curl up and hide under his scales. He doesn’t blame the kid in the slightest; if he weren’t the responsible adult on duty, he’d hide in his armour.

“Security alert! Why are you coming closer when there’s a security alert?” Tony says. “God, you are going to kill me with stress. Never become a parent. This is what happens to you.”

“Chill out, Jarvis said it wasn’t dangerous,” Clint said, and Tony dares him to repeat _‘chill out’_ when he’s seen what’s happening. “We thought you were just-”

His words are interrupted as they all get close enough to finally clock what’s going on. Peter is the first to react; Tony swears that kid’s reflexes are even quicker than Arto’s.

“Holy shit! Is that a baby!?” Peter blurts out, looking bewildered. Omari nudges him and Arto and points to the box on the floor. Arto’s jaw drops.

“Did someone _deliver a baby?_ Is that even allowed?”

Bruce tugs the piece of paper from Tony’s armored fingers and unfolds it. He peers at it and then makes a choking noise like he’s just read an incredibly offensive joke about either his Mom or the Hulk or both. His mouth slowly opens and he looks like he’s trying to find words that will help; he gives up and wordlessly hands the piece of paper back to Tony, who tears his eyes away from the baby long enough to look down at it.

It’s - it’s a _birth certificate_.

And according to the birth certificate, the baby is from Des Moines, Iowa, her name is Anna Grace Barton, her mother is Amy Grace Jones and her father is Clinton Francis Barton.  

The same Clinton Francis Barton who is wandering over, taking off his shades and looking bemused. “Who left the baby here?”

“Apparently,” Tony says, and fights a hysterical urge to laugh as he hands over the birth certificate. “You did.”

 

* * *

 

To Clint’s credit, he doesn’t go into immediate shock when presented with the birth certificate of a baby who is apparently his. His face screws up in annoyed confusion, like Tony’s playing a practical joke on him. The confusion stays in place as he blinks down at the birth certificate, looks around at the baby, looks back at the birth certificate, then back at the baby.

“Okay, that’s not mine,” he says after another round of back and forth looking. “Can we please have it on record, that that is not mine. I am not responsible for that.”

Arto peers over at the birth certificate. “It says that you’re the father.”

Clint looks back at the baby, still sleeping peacefully in Julia’s arms. “I am not responsible for that!” he insists. “I have not had any sex that could make a baby in like, ten years!”

“Oh, gross,” Arto says, face twisting as he takes a step back away from Clint. Peter presses his lips together hard and looks up at the ceiling, his face going beet-red. Omari just continues to watch the baby, looking wary.

“Well she’s here and she’s got your name on!” Tony says, and then belatedly realizes that there are no fewer than eleven SI employees all standing and staring. “Oh for fuck’s sake. Now we’ve got to get out the non-disclosure paperwork.”

“Why would someone deliver a baby?” Arto asks again, looking at the baby - Anna - and cocking his head curiously. “And why would they say she’s Clint’s?”

Tony lifts his hand, presses it against his forehead and tries to think. Steve isn’t here, Bucky isn’t here - there is literally no-one else here to come and deal with this, which means between him, Clint and Bruce they need to solve the riddle of the freaking Fed-Ex baby. “Alright, Bruce, take the teenagers out of the way, please?”

“What? No!” Arto protests, but Bruce is putting his hands on Arto’s shoulders and steering him towards the elevators, telling him not to worry, that Clint and Tony will sort it. Peter and Omari follow, heads lowered and talking in conspiratorial tones. Well, Peter is talking in conspiratorial tones. Omari won’t utter a word with so many people around, so he’s just listening in conspiratorial tones. Goddamn teenagers. Always up to something.

“Right,” Tony says. “Next thing. Julia. Can we call down some form of lawyer? Tulio, no-one leaves until we have this mess sorted. Okay, we need some sort of medical personnel, and some sort of police presence.”

“The police?” Clint says, alarmed. “What?”

“A man just delivered a baby, I am calling the police,” Tony says. “Steve would tell us to call the police. There’s nothing to avenge here, this is not our jurisdiction.”

“But my name is on that birth certificate,” Clint says. “Am I going to get in trouble?”

Tony blows out a breath. “Honestly? I have no idea.”

“Um, boss?”

Tony and Clint both wheel around at the sound of Julia’s hesitant voice. “I can talk to legal,” she says. “But I need my hands for the phone.”

The penny drops, and as it does, Tony takes a marked step backwards, holding his hands up like he’s surrendering. Clint notices what he’s doing and immediately copies, taking a much bigger step back than Tony did.

“Not it,” Tony says quickly. “I’m wearing armor, that’s not baby appropriate.”

“Have you met me?” Clint asks. “I drop _everything_.”

“I have faith in you,” Tony says. “Besides, like I said, she’s got your name on.”

Clint gives him a dirty look, and then reaches up to put both his hands on his head. “I am not qualified for this,” he says, more to himself than anyone else, but then to Tony’s surprise, he blows out a shoulder-heaving breath and steps forwards towards Julia. She gently talks him through it and Tony watches as Clint slowly ducks his arms under Julia’s, taking the weight of the baby and allowing Julia to slip her arms free. She smiles but Clint’s expression is fast approaching the  ‘terrified’ end of the scale.

“Oh god, it’s so small, she’s so small, Tony, help,” Clint says. “Oh god, can I put her back in the box? Tony, take her off me, please-”

“Calm down-”

“You calm down!” Clint hisses back. “Oh my god, who is responsible for this?”

And _there’s_ the panic that Tony had been expecting all along. Not great timing though, because Graham and some other nosey employees are still watching, and Clint is getting tenser and tenser and Tony can feel the panic radiating off of him like heat.

“Okay, medical suite, lets go. Jarvis, call the cops and I’ll see if we can find a pediatrician who can get here within-”

“Can we disprove the fucking birth certificate before the cops turn up?” Clint says. “You can do that, right?”

“Sure,” Tony shrugs. “Alright Jarvis, belay that. Find me a baby doctor instead. Someone with-”

“Tony!” Clint interrupts, voice getting even louder in his panic. He seems to notice though, dropping his voice to a whisper instead, which he still manages to infuse with an impressive amount of agitation. “She’s _moving_ , what do I do?”

“Just don’t freaking drop her,” Tony grumbles, taking hold of Clint’s elbow and gently steering him towards the elevator. Clint resists being made to move at first and then he goes with little shuffling steps, his eyes glued to the tiny person in his arms. Tony cocks his head as he looks at her. She maybe looks a bit Barton? That’s Clint’s nose for sure, just in miniature form.

Showing a remarkable amount of maturity and tact, Tony doesn’t say this out loud.

“Alright people,” he calls over his shoulder as he and Clint slowly move away. “We’re taking care of it. No-one goes home until you all sign non-disclosures, because I don’t want this on FOX news just yet. No-one gets a bonus for it because that’s considered bribery, but if you can last until the lawyers get here I might be able to count this as hazard pay. Graham, wherever you are, take everyone up to hospitality, go nuts. Julia, tell the suits to meet everyone there.”

By the time he’s finished talking, they’re in the elevator. Clint is still holding the baby perfectly steady, arms locked in place like he’s waiting to take a shot with his compound bow. Tony steps in after him, at once feeling a heady combination of a) stress-induced exhaustion b) a hysterical urge to laugh and c) a hefty slice of ‘ _what even is my life.’_

“Oh, boy,” he says out loud, slapping his hand over the elevator panel. He rubs his forehead with armored fingers and then looks at Clint and the baby again, lips pressed tightly together. Damn. It’s no good.

“She’s got your nose.”

“I will shoot you,” Clint replies without missing a beat. “I will shoot you _so hard._ ”  

Tony mines pressing his lips together and zipping them shut and turns his face away so Clint can’t see him trying not to laugh.

 

* * *

 

 

“Should a baby sleep this much? Why is she still sleeping? Is she okay?” Clint asks, perched on the bed in medical and still - well, Tony’s not sure of the medical term for such a combination of adrenaline, panic and fear, but he will happily conclude that Clint is now definitely freaking out. “Will someone else please hold her, I will pay you everything I have if you take her.”

“No can do, Hawkguy,” Tony says carefully. "And that's not just because I know the state of your bank balance." He’s out of his armor and fully in ‘solve this puzzle’ mode: step one is DNA. Latex gloves on and swab in hand, he walks over to the baby and crouches down. “Stay still, Barton and smaller Barton,” he murmurs as he quickly and carefully swabs the inside of the baby’s cheek; as he pulls away she shifts and her mouth works but otherwise she sleeps on.

“What are you doing?” Clint asks. “Are you going to do science on the baby?”

“DNA test, Clint,” Bruce says calmly from his computer. “Seeing as you say that she’s not yours.”

“She’s not!” Clint says. “I think I would have remembered making a baby!”

“Remember that time that thing from Asgard gave you a uterus?” Tony says, walking back to Bruce and handing the swab over. “You had plenty of sex then.”

“That was years ago, and besides, we checked, remember?” Clint says. “And I definitely would have remembered giving birth. Oh christ. Why does this shit happen to us?”

“I ask myself the same thing on a regular basis,” Tony says. “Bruce, how long is that going to take?”

“Not long,” Bruce says, already setting to work. “Now this brings back memories. Haven’t done this since Arto got here.”

“The good old days of only having one child unidentified in the tower,” Tony says. “Speaking of, where is he?”

“In his room, no doubt plotting several nefarious ways to come and spy on what’s going on,” Bruce says. “If it helps, Omari seemed to want to keep well out of the way.”

“Yeah, Omari versus Arto and Peter? Kid is doomed,” Tony snorts. “He’s going to be guilty by association for as long as he sticks around.” He stops talking, looks over at Clint, who has gone very quiet. “Holding up there, Clint?”

“She’s so small,” Clint says helplessly. “I didn’t know people came that small. Why would anyone leave her?”

“Million dollar question,” Tony says. “Jarvis, how did operation track down a pediatrician go?”

“I took the liberty of contacting Arto’s pediatrician and he is sending a colleague who specializes in early-infant care. He is on his way.”

“Good man,” Tony says. “Is Arto behaving?”

“Presently, yes,” Jarvis says. “Shall I alert you if they head this way? Their belief that I have already been asked to do so is currently the main thing keeping them in Arto’s room.”

“Then yes,” Tony says. He wanders cautiously back towards Clint and the baby, ignoring Clint’s beseeching look for help. He contemplates the baby for a moment and then reaches over to pull the birth certificate out of Clint’s top pocket.

“Jarvis, search for Amy Grace Jones from Des Moines,” he says absently. “Anything you can find.”

“Uh, Tony?”

Both Clint and Tony look up at the sound of Bruce’s wary voice. Tony is over in a heartbeat, leaning over Bruce’s shoulder and peering over at the monitors. He’s seen this before, back when they tested Arto. It’s all frighteningly similar, except for the names on the screen.

“What?” Clint asks, voice taking on a pitch Tony hasn’t heard from him before. “Why are you looking like that?”

Tony scans the images and text on the screen in front of him, and does a double take. “Holy shit,” he says blankly, eyes glued to the matching boxes of patterns and the small yet oh-so-significant 99.89% in the corner of the screen. “Clint, standard DNA says you _are_ the father.”

Clint’s mouth falls open. “I am not!” he yells. “Do some non-standard DNA then, because I am not!”

At his raised volume, the baby jerks and wriggles and then her mouth opens and she starts to cry. Clint freezes and then swears as she continues to whine, tiny little hitching cries even though she’s not fully awake yet.

“Shit. Tony, please come take her-”

“Clint just calm down,” Tony says, because for as unwilling as he was to hold the baby earlier, it’s now double seeing as she’s crying. “We’ll work this out, pal. Bruce, have we got another clone on our hands? Has someone been hijacking Barton DNA?”

“Someone has been stealing my DNA?” Clint gapes. “Like Hydra did to Steve?!”

“Um,” Bruce says, and points to something new on his screen. Tony glances distractedly back and starts to read, first in his head and then out loud as the penny drops.

“Well this might explain it - ‘If two possible fathers are related as full brothers or father and son, they may share many of the DNA markers used in paternity testing. This means that if the laboratory is not aware of these relationships, both men could test positive as the child’s biological father.’”

Clint freezes all over again. His mouth opens and closes again, like a furiously angry goldfish.

“Breathe, Clint,” Bruce calls.

“Barney,” Clint manages to choke out, and it would be funny except for how it’s really not. “Oh Barney, you _bastard_ , I am going to _kill you_.”

 

* * *

  


“Take her, Tony,” Clint says for the thousandth time, though this time around he sounds a lot less panicked and more determined than before. “I need to go to Iowa and kill Barney.”

“It’s only a theory at this stage,” Bruce calls. “Hold off on murder until we’ve confirmed that he’s responsible for her.”

“Maybe a good thing that Buckaroo is in Myanmar,” Tony muses. “He’d be packing his third-favorite knife already. He doesn’t think much of Barney, right?”

“He’s never met him,” Clint says, looking down and gently shifting the blanket away from the baby’s face, fussing unnecessarily at it where it covers her feet. “He probably would stab him a bit if he could get away with it. Oh, god. He’s going to bust a blood vessel when he gets back.”

“Him and Steve both,” Tony says, rubbing his temple. He can just imagine Steve’s look of abject _no._

“Sir, I have news on Anna’s mother,” Jarvis says quietly, calmly.

“Hit us.”

Jarvis throws up a screen and Tony’s heart sinks as he looks at a newspaper report from Des Moines, a small segment describing how a new mother had been tragically killed in a four-car crash on I-35. It’s dated only a week prior.

“Shit,” Clint says, quietly, heartfelt.

“Would explain why the baby’s here now,” Bruce says quietly, tapping his pen against his palm. “Clint, I’m running extended DNA. If she’s your niece rather than anything more Hydra shaped, then we’ll know within a few minutes.”

“My niece,” Clint repeats, sounding surprised, like he’s not properly made the connection yet. He looks back down at the baby, brow furrowing. She’s settled back down from her earlier squirming session and seems to be sleeping peacefully. Tony watches her carefully; he knows a total of squat about babies but he thinks that maybe she should be noisier? Don’t babies cry all the time?

“So, I hate to be that guy,” Bruce says. “But what are we going to do?”

“Panic?” Clint suggests.

“Well, obviously,” Tony says. “That first, and then we check she’s healthy, we track down Barney Barton and ask him to take his baby back, get a new birth certificate drawn to up get Clint let off the hook. Then we go back to only having to deal with teenagers.”

Bruce nods slowly. “Clint?” he prompts.

Clint is still frowning down at the baby. “Barney - what if Barney doesn’t want her?”

Tony doesn’t have an answer for that. Well, he does, but he’s not going to say it out loud. He’s already thinking about it - the possibility of it not being Barney’s kid, of having another clone on their hands. The possibility of not being able to track down the elder Barton brother, the possibility that he won’t want anything to do with the baby. His mind has already processed plans A through H, not all of them ending with the baby leaving.

Instead of saying any of it though, he just shrugs. Clint’s frown gets deeper.

Jarvis saves the day as always, with perfect timing. “Sir, Doctor Kelly has arrived.”

“Send him up,” Tony says. “Update on the terrible trio?”

“Still safely out of the way,” Jarvis says. “Playing Grand Theft Auto. If you wish for details, they are at the part of the game which requires them to drive a car through the windows of several strip-clubs.”

Tony winces. “Okay, remind me to tell Peter never to bring that around if Steve is here,” he says but he can’t spend any time worrying about the impact of violent games on the youth of today, because he’s got bigger - though technically smaller - problems right now. “We’re going to need to buy supplies for the small-Barton, aren’t we?”

“Not unless we call social services or the cops,” Bruce calls over.

“No,” Clint chips in unexpectedly. “No cops. Even if the DNA says she’s Barney’s, I’m not calling the cops in.”

Tony pauses, trying to calculate Clint’s angle here. “Dare I ask why?”

“Barney’s a dick but he’s my brother,” Clint says flatly. “I’m not getting him in trouble unless he really deserves it.”

“Uh, he left a baby in the lobby. I think he deserves it,” Tony begins, but any further argument is cut off by the arrival of Doctor Kelly. He’s a cheerful man in his fifties, and walks over to shake Tony’s hand right away. He doesn’t even seem to mind it when Tony avoids the handshake and smoothly directs him towards Clint and Anna instead.

“Good to meet you, Mister Stark,” he says brightly, turning to look towards Clint. “I hear you have a baby you need checking over?”

“Yeah, she-” Tony begins, but Clint cuts him off.

“She was left here about thirty minutes ago,” he says, glancing quickly at Tony then back to the door. “She’s mine.”

Kelly immediately beelines for Clint. “She was left?”

“Yeah,” Clint says. “Her Mom - well, we just found out she died in a crash in Des Moines a few days back, and they’ve obviously tracked me down.”

“Poor little mite,” the doctor says. “May I?”

Clint hands over the baby and sits there looking a little lost, rubbing a hand over his hair and watching as the doctor looks the baby over. When the doctor asks Clint to hold her again so that he can check her heart-rate, he takes her without hesitation, even gently shushing her as she wriggles and whines again.

Hoping he doesn’t draw too much attention to himself, Tony walks backwards a step at a time until he’s standing next to Bruce. “Did he just claim the baby?” he asks in an undertone.  “That sounded a lot like he just claimed the baby.”

“If he says she’s not his, then the doctor will start asking more questions,” Bruce mutters back. “Don’t get involved.”

“How would I get involved? I’m not going to get involved.”

“You always get involved, leave it alone this time.”

“I am insulted, I would never.”

“Hang on,” Bruce says, holding up a hand to stop the bickering, his attention going back to the screen in front of him. He pulls up the screen which had on the DNA boxes and this time there are more boxes with different patterns, more numbers and figures. Tony takes it all in, working out what it all means with relative ease.

“Niece?” he whispers, and Bruce nods.

“Yeah, pretty sure. Look, extended search has come out at twenty-six percent,” Bruce says. “If she were his, that’d be closer-”

“Closer to fifty,” Tony finishes, and Bruce nods. “Well. That’s part one of the problem solved.”

“Part one?” Bruce murmurs, saving the files onto the secure server.

Tony doesn’t reply, just watches Clint and the doctor contemplatively for a moment. Clint is listening hard to the guy, eyes fixed on his face as they talk. The panic has gone and has been replaced by something a lot closer to quiet determination. It’s a look not often seen on Clint, not since he got blown up and deafened anyway. He’s usually pretty happy-go-lucky these days.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Tony goes back over to the baby-zone. “Everything okay?”

“Seems fit and well, though I think she’s been given a mild sedative,” the doctor says. “She’ll be okay with rest and plenty of water when she wakes up.”

“Do babies even drink water?” Clint asks. “I thought they just drank milk?”

“Well you’re lacking there,” Tony points out, and Clint gives him a withering look that he almost certainly learned from Bucky.

“Formula will be fine, but yes, babies drink water,” the doctor says. He pauses, looks from Clint to Tony, then round at Bruce. “Do any of you have any experience with babies?”

“I’ve held a few for photo ops?” Tony says. “Other than that, no. My kid arrived when he was six.”

“I’ve always associated babies with stress so I avoid them,” Bruce says with a shrug, and the doctor’s smile goes a bit strained.

“Do you have any family or friends who have experience with babies?”

“A few,” Tony says. “Oh man, Sue isn’t going to believe us when we tell her we’ve accidentally ended up with another one.”

“Accidentally?” the doctor repeats, and then seems to decide he doesn’t want to know. “Well, she’s in good health. You’ve got yourself a lovely daughter there, Mister Hawkeye.”

“Yeah,” Clint says, and then seems to give up, staring back down at Anna and seeming a little lost.

“So, thanks doc,” Tony says, starting to walk towards the door. Luckily, the doctor gets the hint and packs up his things, following Tony out. “So, did you meet the lawyers on the way in?”

“Yes, I signed the form,” the doctor says, and slows to a halt in front of the elevator. “May I just ask, did Mister Hawkeye know he was the baby’s father before she arrived?”

Tony hides a wince. “No,” he admits. “Though she came with a birth certificate and all the history matches up. Besides, we ran DNA so we know she’s his.”

The doctor nods. “He might be in shock,” he says. “Becoming a parent with no warning is sometimes a traumatic experience.”

Tony does less well at hiding the wince this time around, remembering Steve and his initial reaction to Arto all too well. Oh god, if Clint goes down that path then Tony is going to have to fly to Myanmar and extract Steve and Bucky himself.

“We’ll look after him,” he says. “We’ll hire a nanny or something. We’ve got it covered.”

The doctor seems satisfied. “Call me if you need anything,” he says, and then he’s gone without attempting a parting handshake, which Tony is grateful for. He stands for a moment, working out which step in plans A through H need to come next, and the outcomes if he screws any part of it up.

Oh well. He didn’t screw Arto up and he was practically winging it there.

“Jarvis, add Anna to your surveillance protocols, and download me the top five baby care manuals from Amazon,” he says. “And try and call Steve and the One-Armed-Wonder.”

There’s a brief pause. “Neither phones are connecting,” Jarvis tells him apologetically.

“Which means they’ve turned them off, great,” Tony sighs. “Manuals?”

“Ordering _‘Your Baby’s First Year’, ‘Caring for your Baby Edition Nine’, ‘Baby 411’, ‘Taking Baby Home’_ and one that is not in the top five but I thought you would enjoy, titled _‘The Baby Owner's Manual: Operating Instructions, Trouble-Shooting Tips, and Advice on First-Year Maintenance.’”_

Tony barks out a laugh. “Yeah, that’ll do it,” he says. “Now, call Sue and be prepared to make a list or ten.

“As you wish,” Jarvis replies calmly, and Tony takes a steadying breath and goes back to find Clint, Bruce and the baby.

 

* * *

 

 

Unfortunately, as he goes back into the medical wing, it becomes apparent that things are about to get a lot more difficult. Anna is sitting up on Clint’s knee, her eyes are blearily open and she’s crying unhappily, the sound shrill and piercing. One chubby hand is clutching tightly to Clint’s shirt and she’s looking around the room like she’s trying to find something.

“Oh, shit,” Tony curses. “It woke up.”

“Yeah it woke up,” Clint says with a grimace. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know!” Tony says. “I’ve not had chance to read the manual.”

“She’s probably hungry,” Bruce says, and pauses. “Or she needs changing?”

Both Clint and Tony rear back at that. “Oh god, I hope not,” Clint says fervently. “We need - we need formula? What the fuck even is formula?”

“I’m calling reinforcements,” Tony says and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He flicks through contacts and then hits dial, hoping that the Fantastic Four aren’t off on another planet or saving the world somewhere.

It rings, and it rings, and then the sounds of the call connecting is the best thing Tony has ever heard.

“Hello?”

“Sue!” Tony says cheerfully, loud enough so he can be heard over the sound of Anna’s crying. “Any chance you’re at home? We kind of need a favor.”

“Sure, what’s up?” she asks, but then, “can I hear a _baby?_ ”

“Yeah, we did it again,” Tony says. “Oops?”

There’s a long silence from Sue’s end of the phone. “I’m on my way,” she finally says. “Oh my god, Tony.”

“Thank you, I love you, I owe you a million favors,” Tony says. “Any chance you know what babies eat?”

“Oh my god,” Sue repeats. “Give me twenty minutes. How old is he? She?”

“Seven months two weeks, so says the birth certificate,” Tony says. “We’ve had a doctor out, it’s okay, but we’re starting from scratch over here.”

“I’m on the way,” Sue says again, and then the phone goes dead.

“Help is on the way,” he says to Clint, who is now looking as distressed as Anna. She arches her back, kicking tiny little legs, clearly not impressed with anything she can see, hear or smell. Can babies smell? Are all their senses in working order? Tony flicks his phone to the media server on the network and opens up the first baby manual.

“Maybe you should get out of medical?” Bruce suggests. “Take her somewhere less clinical?”

Clint looks at him incredulously. “She’s tiny, she’s not going to care!”

“She might,” Tony says. “I’ll take it. Come on, let’s go. You too, Bruce.”

“Why me?” Bruce exclaims. “This has nothing to do with me!”

“You’re helping, we need all the help we can get,” Tony says. “Come on, all for one and one for all.”

“We are three middle aged men trying to care for a baby, we are not musketeers.”

“The point is we’re doing it together,” Tony says. “Come on, Bruce, where’s your team spirit?”

And Bruce is sighing dejectedly but nodding. Tony takes it as a win, hooking his arm through Bruce’s and steering him to the elevator. “Start reading,” he says to Bruce, handing over his phone. “Clint, you got her?”

“I got her,” Clint says, standing up and making to lie Anna down like she had been when she was sleeping. She objects to being tilted back with more crying and kicking; Clint flails for a moment and then just holds her to his side so she’s sitting up, almost like Steve used to carry Arto on his hip. She seems to like that more: at any rate, her crying goes back down from painful level into just-about-bearable and she fists a hand in the shoulder of Clint’s tee. Clint sets his hand on her back and christ, she looks so small under his broad palm, so tiny and breakable.

“This is not how I imagined today going,” Clint says, and Tony reaches over to pat him on his free shoulder.

“Us neither, Uncle Barton. Us neither.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sue Storm arrives in due course with Johnny in tow, both of them carrying multiple bags from Babies R Us. Johnny looks like he’s about to start laughing at any given moment; Sue looks more worried, a frown on her face as she comes in and dumps all the bags on the island counter. Clint stands up from where he’s been sat on the couch with an increasingly-grouchy Anna on his knee, looking so relieved that he might pass out from it.

“Oh my god,” Sue says as she looks over Clint and his small charge, both of her hands on her head. “Where did this one come from?”

“Another Hydra clone?” Johnny asks, screwing his face up at Anna’s crying. “That’s where Steve’s kid came from, right?”

“You know I am legally his father too,” Tony points out.

“But he’s Steve’s.”

“I married Steve and adopted Arto, so-”

“Can we not argue about that right now,” Clint says loudly, looking a little unhinged. It’s the same look he gets when he’s been awake for thirty minutes and hasn’t been given any coffee. Not that Tony’s one to talk; his caffeine deprived face is probably much more deranged than even Clint’s. Clint blinks rapidly, swallowing hard. “Sue, _help._ ”

Sue gives Johnny a reprimand in the form of a gentle shove and then doubles back towards the bags. She upends them over the counter and Bruce hastily grabs a bottle as it rolls towards the edge. There are cans of formula, packs of diapers, pacifiers, medicines, toys, clothes, little jars of food and bags of baby-appropriate snacks. It’s so much stuff that even Tony has to stop and process for a moment.

“You owe me two hundred and ninety-one dollars,” Sue says. “And nineteen cents, but I’ll let you off the small change.”

“What?” Clint gapes, even as Tony shrugs and pulls out his wallet. Damn, no cash. Where’s Steve and his wallet when they need him?

“Babies are expensive,” Sue says, taking the bottle from Bruce. “Johnny, find me the tin of formula, she’s probably hungry.”

“Tony, put your fucking money away,” Clint says loudly and then huffs. “Bucky is gonna have to stop breaking shit if we’re going have to pay for baby stuff,” he mutters, shaking his head. Tony’s mouth falls open and he looks meaningfully at Bruce, who just shrugs. _Oh come on,_ Tony thinks. _Clint is clearly on plan F too._

“I tried to call him and Steve, no dice,” Tony says, slipping his wallet back into his pocket.

“Do _not_ call Bucky,” Clint says adamantly. “He will have a heart attack and _die._ ” Anna doesn’t seem to appreciate his tone; her face goes even redder and her crying goes up a notch, her mouth open wide. Clint grimaces and hitches Anna up a little with one arm, quickly reaching up to touch his ear with his free hand. The bastard is probably thinking about taking his hearing aids out, Tony would bet the Mark Twenty-Two on it.

“Oh god, you have no idea, do you?” Johnny says, and reaches for the baby. Clint lets him take her and Johnny sets her on his hip, bobbing up and down and cooing at her in a gentle voice. Tony notices that instead of running away, Clint stays put, hovering uselessly at Johnny’s side.

“How did this even happen?” Sue asks, busy messing around with formula and water. Tony watches her every move, cataloguing exactly what she does. “How have you accidentally acquired _two_ children? One was a shock, but two?”

“Uh, luck?” Clint says. He doesn’t say anything about Barney, so Tony takes his lead and keeps his mouth shut. Clint is watching Johnny, who has managed to get Anna’s crying down from ear-splitting to cranky. “How did you do that?”

“Babies like to move,” Johnny says. “Most of the time. Not if you’ve just fed them, then they hurl.”

“They hurl anyway,” Sue says distractedly. “Johnny, let Clint do it.”

“But she’s cute!” Johnny protests.

“Give her back,” Clint says, stepping closer. “Get your own abandoned baby.”

He slides his arms under Johnny's and takes Anna back, copying just how Johnny was moving. He’s a quick study, Tony’ll give him that much.

“Try that,” Sue says, holding out a bottle. “It’s cold, so she might want it warming up, let's see.”

She hands Clint the bottle and he stares at her like she’s just told him he has to go fight a squadron of Nazi vampires single-handedly. Luckily, Anna seems to know what’s what and makes grabby hands for the bottle, mouth already open. Clint at least gets that pretty obvious message, carefully slipping the bottle into Anna’s baby-bird open mouth. Sue smiles and tips Clint’s hand up, and Anna settles back into the crook of his arm, her crying replaced by gentle sucking.

Tony literally watches the amazement play out over Clint’s face. The wariness and hesitation is smoothed away, replaced into mild surprise and shock - possibly his brain short-circuiting because it’s suddenly gone quiet - and then he smiles.

“Oh thank god,” Bruce blurts out from over by the counter, and Tony starts to laugh. Clint does too, but he’s mostly busy staring down at the baby.

“Talk to her,” Sue encourages.

“She won’t understand me,” Clint says, frown creeping back.

“She’ll get used to your voice,”  Sue says, watching carefully. “So, are any of you going to explain where the baby came from?”

Clint shrugs. “Nah.”

“Oh come on,” Johnny interjects, full of incredulity. “You can't just call and say you accidentally got another kid and then not explain.”

“We called Sue, not you,” Tony points out. “Don’t worry about it.”

Johnny snorts, ignores Sue’s soft admonishment. “Don’t worry about it?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Tony says, feeling oddly defensive and more than a little protective over both Clint and the baby Barton. “All you-”

“It’s my baby, stop making a big deal out of it,” Clint says suddenly, looking up at them. His scowl is fierce and stubborn and even Bruce raises his eyebrows at it.

Johnny’s mouth hangs open for a moment. “But you’re married to Bucky Barnes.”

“I know that, dumbass,” Clint says. “Doesn’t mean I can’t have a baby. Now stop asking questions.”

Johnny mimes zipping his lips together, pulling a face. If he could get away with it he’d probably be _ooooh_ -ing at Clint like a high-schooler. Thankfully, the more sensible Storm sibling gets the message and simply guides Clint over to the table and supplies, talking him through everything she’s bought.

Tony takes the opportunity to sidle back over to Bruce, under the guise of making coffee. “He claimed the baby again,” he mutters. “I think he’s planning on keeping the baby.”

“He can’t just keep her, she’s not his,” Bruce murmurs back. “Besides, Bucky.”

He doesn't need to elaborate, really. Bucky is an unknown variable in this equation; as far as Tony knows, the man is happy with his current life. A baby would certain disrupt all the time he spends  whaling on Hydra at various locations around the globe, sparring with anyone who is dumb enough to loiter in the gym for long enough, bickering with Sam, having borderline violent sex with Barton, winding Steve up, playing with guns, eating and napping. Sometimes a combination of several at once.

“I don’t know,” Tony ventures. “He might roll with it? He got married and no-one ever expected that.”

“Yes, but a baby?” Bruce’s skepticism is almost contagious.

Tony just shrugs. He got something like this wrong before - so very catastrophically wrong - so he’s not about to start saying how people should feel and react to things like this. He’ll just have to very deliberately tell himself that he’s not in control here, and will have to wait it out to see what happens.

Man, waiting sucks.

“We’ll work out it out,” he says. Bruce doesn’t look convinced, and Tony has to concede that maybe he doesn’t sound it, either.

 

* * *

 

 

Unfortunately for the musketeers, Sue can’t stay with them and tell them exactly what to do with the baby, because apparently she has to go home and deal with her own children. Tony thinks she’s being a tad unfair because her children are teenagers and can probably look after themselves better than he, Bruce and Clint can look after a baby.

Case in point: Anna has decided that being held by Clint is for suckers, and has embarked on a crusade of determined back-arching and wriggling that means that Clint has had to put her down. He sits her on the plush carpet of the lounge, crouching down close and looking worried as she wobbles slightly, swaying back and forth as she sits. She seems happy for about ten seconds, and then Tony literally sees the moment that she realizes that she’s not being held. She almost jumps in shock, and then shrieks and lifts tiny arms in the air in a plea to be picked up again. Clint obliges, only for Anna to want to go down again a minute later. Clint’s thighs are getting a hell of a workout with the amount of squatting he’s doing as he jack-in-the-boxes up and down on Anna’s whims.

“She doesn’t know what she wants,” Bruce observes, as Anna pats at the carpet with her hands then twists around as if she’s looking for Clint again. Clint dutifully crouches down and gently puts his hand on her back, reassuring. She squeals and pitches herself forwards; only Clint’s quick reflexes stop her ending up with a face-full of carpet.

“Attachment,” Tony says from his perch at the counter. “She’s probably pinning Clint down as a safe space so she doesn’t want to be too far.”

“What, like Arto did to Steve?” Clint asks, startled. He picks Anna up with his hands on her sides, her toes just brushing the carpet. She kicks out and then gets her footing, standing up with Clint supporting her. He laughs and then looks startled.

“She smiled!” he says. “Tony! She smiled at me!”

“Yeah, she likes you best, well done Barton,” Tony says, but Clint’s amazed slash shocked face is quite endearing really.

“This says that babies her age should be eating solid food,” Bruce say absently, nose still in the baby manual. “Either pureed food or small pieces of real food, depending on how she’s been weaned anyway.”

“She’s smiling,” Clint repeats, utter ignoring Bruce. “She got left in the lobby like four hours ago and - oh wait, no, there we go.”

He scoops her up as she starts to make yet more noise, standing up and setting her on his hip. He’s still careful and cautious in the way he holds her but oh man, compared to how he was when Julia first handed her over, he’s like a completely different person. Tony bites down on several daddy-Barton jokes, because Too Soon.

“And she might be teething,” Bruce adds, tapping his finger against the manual.

“She’s too small for teeth,” Clint says, sounding appalled.

“Some babies are born with teeth.”

Tony screws his face up. “Gross.”

“How is that gross? You have strange standards for gross.”

Tony is about to reply but he’s cut off by the arrival of the other wonderfully gross thing in his life. At least said gross thing is clean this time around.

“Hey, Smart-Art,” Tony calls as Arto, Peter and Omari all peer in from round the edge of the stairwell like damn meerkats. “You are looking wonderfully suspicious, I am totally living for this.”

“Stop being a loser, Dad,” Arto sighs, like he’s disappointed in him. “Is...is the baby still here?”

“Present and accounted for,” Clint calls back. “Come and say hello.”

All three boys glance to each other and there seems to be a round of nudging and pushing before they collectively gather the guts to come in. Arto leads the way with Peter behind him and Omari bringing up the rear. They edge into the room, eyes fixed on Clint. Arto stops dead when he spots Anna, standing in the middle of the room and staring at her. Peter and Omari don’t seem to have hit the same invisible wall as Arto; Peter climbs onto the couch and Omari leans over the back of it.

“So where’s she come from?” Peter asks, watching as she bounces up and down, still held safely by Clint’s hands.  

“Ask me no questions and I shall tell you no lies,” Clint says vaguely. “Oh man, she’s gonna start crying again. Bruce?”

“Food?” Bruce calls back, the lilt in his voice making it sound like a question. “Bring her here, let’s try food.”

Clint scoops her up, shushing her and bouncing her in his arms as her crying turns cranky again. “Shush, little one,” he murmurs, stroking his free hand over her head, smoothing down her dark hair. Peter and Omari follow, taking seats at the counter beside Clint, watching in fascination. Arto doesn’t join them, just turns on the spot to watch, crossing his arms over his chest and gnawing at his lip. Oh god, his expression is just like the one Steve used wear when looking at _him._

Tony gets up, walks over to Arto to stand behind him, looping his arms around Arto’s shoulders. Arto’s hands come up to hold onto his wrists and he seems to shrink back into him.

“Doing okay?” Tony murmurs.

“Yes,” Arto replies quickly. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

He ducks out from beneath Tony’s hands and Tony thinks that he’s about to join the others over at the counter but instead Arto abruptly turns towards the stairwell and hightails it out of there, going so far as to break into a run before he vanishes out of sight. Tony’s not Steve so he doesn’t yell after him, just watches him go. He takes a moment to weigh up his options and then decides to get some more intel before going to deal with Art. He’s worried. He knows that Bucky has talked to Arto in the past about how the dynamics between him and Clint would shift if the Barnes-Barton alliance were to ever have kids...but seeing Arto actually having to face up to that is a whole new realm of difficult. Arto doesn’t deal well with rejection, and if he perceives Clint taking in Anna as a rejection, then it is going to make everything a lot harder.

And if it turns out that Clint isn’t going to keep her, getting Arto to like her and then having her taken away is probably a recipe for disaster too.

Sighing to himself and wishing violently that Steve were here instead of Myanmar, Tony walks over to the kitchen area, standing at the counter next to Omari. Omari glances up at him, yellow eyes full of concern. Tony smiles back at him, wrapping his arm around Omari’s shoulders and squeezing him gently, careful not to press too hard on Omari’s scales.

“Did Arto run away?” Peter asks, looking around.

“He’s scared,” Omari murmurs. “He doesn’t like change.”

“Too right,” Tony sighs. “How was he before?”

Peter shrugs. “Wondering where she came from, if she was really Clint’s. He didn’t get that worked up.”

Omari honest to god raises a hand before he offers his two-cents. “He did.”

Peter rubs at his jaw. “Okay he did a little? You want me to go talk to him, Mister Stark?”

“Peter, cut the Mister business, you basically live here and I feel old enough,” Tony says tiredly, letting go of Omari and taking the seat next to him. “Jarvis, try and call Steve again, please.”

“No, don’t,” Clint says, insistent.

“I’m not calling him to tell Bucky, I’m calling him to make him come home because Arto is freaking out,” Tony says.

“Don’t sell yourself short, you can deal with Arto,” Bruce says gently. “Clint, shall we try feeding her?”

“Yeah, why not,” Clint says, then pauses. “How the hell do we do that?”

“Um,” Bruce says, leaning back and checking the tablet he’s been reading from. “Peter can hold her. I’ll hold the jar and you can man the spoon.”

“What?” Peter yelps. “Why me?”

“Good call,” Tony says. “Omari, let’s go Arto wrangling.”

Omari nods and slides off of his chair. Tony claps his hands onto Omari’s shoulders and steers him towards the elevator. They step into it just in time to see Clint handing the baby over to a very startled looking Peter, Bruce advancing with a jar of baby food and a plastic spoon in hand.

 _“ _B_ ruce.” _Tony despairs as the doors slide shut. “Bruce, oh Bruce. He’s feeding a baby, not staring down Thanos.”

“You could always do it,” Omari says, barely audible.

Tony barks out a laugh. “Oh great, you grew teenage sarcasm too.”

Omari just shakes his head, blinking up at him with big gold innocent eyes.

“Alright, whatever you say, Sandslash,” Tony says. “Or whatever you don’t say. You don’t fool me but for now I’m willing to let it slide. And for your information, I am not dealing with the baby because I have a teenager to deal with.”

“And you don’t want to get covered in baby food.”

“And that, yes,” Tony agrees. “Small children, teenagers and robots I can deal with, babies not so much.”

“Adults?”

“Hit and miss,” Tony replies promptly. They step out of the elevator onto Arto’s floor, made up of his living room, bathroom and bedroom. It’s an utter tip as always, clothes and games and pieces of art projects strewn everywhere, alongside cogs and gears and screwdrivers. It’s comfortable and well lived in, Arto’s passion for his art and engineering evident in equal measure, as well as his passion for not tidying anything up, ever. There’s a lot of artwork on the walls, next to Arto’s most favorite photos, all centered around the one of him asleep on Steve’s back on his very first night here. Tony knows the photograph well; it’s been his wallpaper on every phone that he’s owned for the past ten years.

“Arto, oh Arto,” he calls as he picks his way through the mess, bending down to pick up a pair of headphones that he’s almost definitely sure belong to Steve, looping the cable up. He only makes it another couple of steps before he spots a screwdriver that should be in the workshop, and reclaims that as well.

He gets to Arto’s bedroom door and knocks. There’s no answer until Omari reaches out and knocks as well, and then the door swings open.

“What?” Arto asks. “Dad, you’re invading my personal space. You’re just like Dad.”

“How very dare you,” Tony says without heat. It’s pretty much an automated response by this point. “We’ve come to see why you ran away from the baby.”

Arto’s mouth drops open. “I did not.”

“You did,” Omari says simply. He turns away and goes to sit on Arto’s couch, shoving aside a pile of laundry that should have been put away. He digs around for a while and then comes up with the controller for the Xbox.

“I did _not._ ”

“Okay, you didn’t,” Tony says, and goes to sit by Omari. “What are we playing?”

Omari pauses. “Um.”

“It’s Grand Theft Auto and you can’t take it off me because it’s Peter’s copy not mine,” Arto says loudly. “Tony, what are you doing?”

“Hanging out with my favorite child,” Tony says, choosing not to divulge about the amount of time Clint and Bucky spend playing on GTA. He flips through the menus and loads up a saved game. “Is that a crime?”

“You’re-” Arto begins, evidently frustrated. “Just can you _stop._ ”

“Sorry, too busy stealing money from strippers,” Tony says. “Oh man, no wonder Steve hates this.”

Next to him, Omari gives a rare smile. Tony carries on playing and sure enough, after a few minutes of carnage, Arto stomps over and flops onto the couch next to him, slumping on him and shoving his face between Tony’s shoulder and the cushions.  

“Doing alright in there, Art?” Tony asks carefully.

Arto mutters something, his breath hot and damp against Tony’s shirt. Tony glances over and resists the urge to kiss him on his temple. Not in front of his friends, he remembers that rule.

“Is Clint going to keep the baby?” Omari asks, his eyes glued to the TV.

“Possibly,” Tony says honestly. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

“He can’t,” Arto says, pushing himself back from Tony. “Bucky will go fucking crazy at him if he does.”

“Watch your language,” Tony reminds him. “And don’t make assumptions about Buckaroo. Remember when Clint went to Asgard, when he was deafened? Bucky was the one who proposed.”

Arto goes very quiet and still at that and then he keels over sideways. Tony lifts his arms out the way just in time to receive a lapful of sulking super-soldier. Christ, the kid is nine tenths his father, he really is.

“Ouch,” Tony protests, pushing at Arto so his shoulder isn’t in danger of crushing his crotch. Arto huffs and shifts, rolling over so his head is on Tony’s knee instead. “Arto, you are too big for this.”

“I don’t want things to change,” Arto replies quietly.  

“That’s life, Smart-Art,” Tony says. He rests an elbow on Arto’s shoulder and carries on playing. “You knew this would happen one day, it was always on the cards when they got married.”

“I know,” Arto says. “But I just. Clint will still like me, right?”

“You will always be Clint’s favorite brother,” Tony says firmly, even as Omari reaches over to pat Arto’s head. “No amount of babies is going to change that, I promise.”

“She’ll be your sister, sort of,” Omari says, and Arto seems to perk up at that.

“Will she?”

“I don’t know, your family tree needs a translator to go with it,” Tony muses. “What color would she be? Blue? Yellow?”

“Can I pick?” Arto asks. “Can I pick what she is?”

“Okay, let’s wait and see if she stays first,” Tony says. “Just...I don’t know. Brace yourself for both possibilities.”

Arto nods and then out of nowhere he starts to laugh, turning to hide his face in Tony’s knee. His shoulders shake with the force of his giggling. “Steve is going to freak out,” he says, sounding somewhere between amused and terrified and well on the way to hysterical. “Tony, he’s going to be so mad. He’s going to do the face and he’ll be so mad. He’ll be all like ‘where the hell did you get a baby from?’”

“Yes, he probably will,” Tony agrees. “Let’s deal with that when we get there, okay?”

Arto’s giggling subsides and he lets out a heaving sigh. “Where’s Peter?”

“Helping Clint feed the baby,” Tony says. “You want me to go get him?”

Arto nods and pushes himself up, taking the controller from Tony. “Can you call Dad? Get him to come home?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Tony says, and decides fuck the rules and leans over to drop a kiss onto Arto’s head. Arto only protests mildly, just an eyeroll and a wearily-annoyed grunt. Tony smiles and ruffles his hair before departing, leaving Arto in Omari’s capable hands.

 

* * *

 

 

When he arrives back at zone-baby, he finds that feeding Anna seems to have become an enterprise in getting half of the jar of food into Anna’s mouth, and the rest over her and Clint. It’s on her forehead and even in Clint’s hair and whoa, flashbacks to six-year-old Arto being covered in peanut butter.

“Peter, Arto wants you back,” Tony calls and Peter lets out a visible sigh of relief. Clint takes the baby and winces as she sticks puree-covered hands into his face. Peter doesn’t even stop to chat, just dives towards the elevator before he can be asked to sit and help any more.

“So, we’ve fed her,” Tony says, leaning his elbows on the counter. “What now? What’s the plan, mister Hawkeye?”

He’s pretty sure Clint pretends not to hear him. He does that an awful lot since he got deafened. Sometimes it’s legitimate, sometimes it’s a dirty trick. Bruce sighs and hands over a baby-wipe; Clint takes it and does his best to get all the food off of Anna’s hands and face. She just sticks her fingers into her mouth, grinning happily up at him and babbling as she does.

“Alright, you're alright,” Clint sighs, holding her close. She buries her face in his shoulder, bright eyes just visible over the top of his shirt. She is pretty cute, Tony concedes, tilting his head to look at her. Big grey eyes and chubby cheeks, round face and the same stubborn little Barton mouth. Even as he's looking her over, she lets out a huge yawn, eyelids drooping.

“Clint,” Tony says, louder than last time. “Plan. Come on.”

“Why are you asking me, I’m not the plan guy,” Clint says, trying to peer back and look at Anna’s face. “Steve is the plan guy and if he’s not here, you are the plan guy.”

“I’ve already come up with several plans, but I’m not the one with the baby,” Tony says. “I’m not making the call here, Clint.”

“I can’t make the call, can I?” Clint snaps back. “She’s not mine, even if I did want to keep her.”

Silence falls, strained and awkward. Bruce is looking down at the counter, lips pressed hard together. Tony weighs up his options carefully, figuring out what route is going to be best here.

“Clint, do you want to keep her?”

Clint doesn't look at him. “She was left in the lobby, that’s not fair.”

“Doesn't answer my question.”

“I don’t know, she’s been here like four hours!”

“Still doesn’t answer the question.”

“If you’re so smart you fucking work it out,” Clint snaps. He shifts Anna into a reclining position in his arms, watching her face intently. She yawns again, blinking slowly as Clint starts to rock her gently back and forth, walking away towards the windows with his back pointedly to Bruce and Tony.

“He wants to keep the baby,” Tony mouths at Bruce.

And this time, Bruce nods, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. “He won’t commit while he doesn’t know if it will work,” he whispers back. “Tony, we need reinforcements here.”

Tony nods grimly. “I know.” He pulls out his phone, fires off a quick text. “Consider them called. Let's not tell him. Let's just help and act surprised when the cavalry arrives.”

“Okay,” Bruce agrees. He visibly composes himself and then pushes away from the counter, heading over to Clint. They have a softly spoken conversation and Clint seems to lose some of the tension he’s carrying in his shoulders, nodding and letting Bruce look Anna over. Tony thinks for a moment and then decides to send another text to the cavalry, hoping that they understand the level of urgency and get here poste-haste.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the day goes as smoothly as Tony anticipated it would. Clint makes Anna up a nest out of cushions on the couch and spends the whole of nap-time simply kneeling down beside it, watching her. He takes coffee and a sandwich from Tony but refuses to move even when Bruce offers to take over and watch for a while. Bruce hadn't seemed too torn up about the refusal, not that Clint had noticed.

The peace had been shattered just under two hours later, when Anna had woken up screaming. Trying to troubleshoot what was wrong, Tony had been just about to suggest more food when the _smell_ had hit him.

“Oh no,” Clint says, holding Anna out with his arms locked at the elbow.

“Not it,” Tony jumps in, taking a large step back. “Bruce, where is this in the manual?”

There’s no reply, and Tony and Clint turn around in impressive synchronicity only to find that Bruce is gone. Given how damn fast Bruce just vacated the room, Tony half expects to see fluttering pages slowly landing on the floor around the spot where he was last seen.

Clint swallows audibly then steels himself. “Tony. Get the manual and a clean diaper.”

Tony really, really doesn’t want to have anything to do with diaper-changing, but Bruce has already let the team down and he’s not about to let it be said that Iron Man is as cowardly as the Hulk seems to be. Besides, this is definitely in the spirit of _‘learn something new everyday,’_ even though the smell is already making him want to heave.   

Twenty minutes later and the baby is changed into a clean diaper and a whole new outfit and Clint is standing in the center of the room wearing the shellshocked look of a man who has just had to diffuse a bomb and has just realized how close it came. For his part, Tony is planning on having the entire communal floor fumigated and redecorated because even though the offending diaper is in the trash at the bottom of the goddamn building, he can still smell it. Bruce slinks back not long after, looking only mildly guilty.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Traitor,” Tony says. “You chicken.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not, otherwise you would have helped.”

“Tony, you get first dibs on godparent, Bruce is relegated to trash uncle,” Clint says. He sets Anna down on the carpet and walks over to the counter, poking through the supplies. Mid-swig of coffee, Tony makes an alarmed noise as Anna promptly pushes herself up onto hands and knees, rocks back and forth a little and then starts to _crawl after Clint._ It’s slow and not altogether efficient, but she’s moving which is trouble enough for Tony.

“Barton! Red alert - she’s mobile!”

Clint promptly spins around, his verbal response probably not appropriate for a baby’s ears. He runs back to Anna, jumping down the step into the sunken carpeted area, sinking to his knees.

“Whoa, whoa,” he says. “You are not supposed to follow me!”

“She probably can't get up the step,” Bruce says. “Clint, what did you want?”

“Toys, anything to distract her,” Clint says. “Oh my god, she can crawl.”

“What do we do?” Bruce asks. “This is going to be a problem.”

Tony puts his coffee down. “I’m on it,” he says. “Keep her distracted, Barton.”

Within twenty minutes, he’s removed the glass coffee table from the lounge and stored it in a spare room, removed all the low-level books and DVD’s from the storage unit, used cable ties and clips to secure all cupboard doors and disabled the reclining function on the loungers.

“We won’t be able to get in the cupboards without cutting the ties,” Clint points out.

“This is temporary,” Tony says, busy taping foam shielding along the edge of the step. “Bruce, will you tape over the outlets, please? And take Steve’s laptop well out of the way.”

“On it,” Bruce says, walking over to pick up a roll of Iron-Man standard duct tape. “Shall we move the plants as well? She could probably pull those pots over.”

“Having a baby is so much work,” Clint says, slowly waving a rattle in Anna’s face. She reaches for it and promptly jams it in her mouth, babbling happily and clearly unaware of all the trouble she’s causing.

“Yeah, no wonder Barney opted out,” Tony says and then winces. He can practically hear Steve rolling his eyes at him for the lack of tact.

“Fuckin’ Barney,” Clint mutters, sounding worryingly like Bucky. “He doesn’t deserve her.”

“We still need to call him,” Bruce says gently, pausing with Steve’s laptop and charger in hand. “Clint, you know I’m right.”

Clint doesn’t answer. His jaw has gone tight and he’s watching Anna waving the rattle about. Tony gives Bruce a Look and Bruce just stares defiantly back, clearing saying _‘you know I’m right’_ without having to utter a word.

Tony sighs. “He’s right,” he says cautiously.

Clint gently picks Anna up, hands on her sides again. “Alright,” he says quietly, eyes still on her. Damn, Tony wishes he’d got some way of mind reading because Clint is normally a pretty open book but he can't completely work out what’s going on in that arrow-loving brain of his.

“You do it, I'll just yell at him,” Clint says, and he pulls Anna close so he can get his phone out of his pocket. His eyes close as he does, the slightest crack in his composure as she grabs hold of him. His forehead creases and his jaw clenches again, the tell-tale flickers of emotion playing over his face for Tony to see. Tony’s a little taken aback. Does he really want to keep the baby that much? Clint stepping up and saying he was going to keep her was one thing, but these hints at heartbreak are completely unprecedented.

Nevermind the cavalry, they're going to have to call _Bucky_.

Clint tosses his phone over to Tony, who bypasses the passcode with ease and finds the number for Barney.

“I don’t know if it’ll work,” Clint says tonelessly. Tony watches as he turns to look at Anna again, the indecision and worry playing out openly.

“I’ll give it a go, then try something else,” Tony shrugs. He is about to hit call when a thought occurs to him; he instead pulls out his own phone, copies the number over and then hits call and puts the phone onto speaker. Being considerate and all.

It starts to ring, and he hears Clint suck in a breath. Anna smacks at his mouth with her palms and he reaches up to gently push them down, with no success. It rings four or five times and then connects.

“Hello?”

“Hi, yeah, I’m looking for Barney Barton?” Tony says.

The person promptly hangs up.

“Well, shit,” Tony says, though he’s not exactly surprised. “Did that sound like Barney?”

Clint nods. “Yes.”

Tony tries the number again. This time, it goes straight to voicemail. “Do I leave a message?” Tony asks.

“Saying what?”  

“I don’t know,” Tony says, but he’s too late because the machine is beeping at him and he hastily has to think of something. “Whoa, voicemail, okay. Right, if this is Barney Barton, first of all, rude. Hanging up on people is just not okay.”

Over on the other side of the room, Clint is staring at him like he’s a fucking idiot and Bruce is making slashing motions across his throat.

“Nevermind,” Tony tells the voicemail. “Barney, we have your baby. Whoa, that sounded like a threat. It’s not. Barney Barton, your baby has been left unattended in Avengers Tower. Maybe come and talk to us about that? Clint is looking after her, two thumbs up for Clint, but my point still stands. Call me back. You know who I am. Unless you don’t, this is Tony Stark. So, call me back or drop on by. No cops have been called, let's keep this between us and sort it out.”

He hangs up and looks at Clint and Bruce, nonplussed. “What, I got the point across, right?”

“I guess you did,” Clint says. “What if he doesn’t call back?”

“Then we go onto plan F point 3,” Tony says. “Don’t worry, Barton. We’ve got your back.”

Clint’s mouth works like he’s going to argue, then he just looks up at Tony, even as Anna pulls at his ear, which cannot be good for his hearing aid. “Yeah?” he asks, vulnerable and unsure like he was that time he got blown up, when he was still unsure about being part of the team because of his deafness. “No matter which plan we go for?”

Tony nods. “Me and Bruce promise to be on your side, plans A through Z,” he says. “Though I still vote for calling Bucky.”

“No,” Clint says, pushing his hearing aid back into place and taking hold of Anna’s hand in his own fingers. “No calling Bucky until - just no calling Bucky, okay?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Fine. No calling Bucky.”

Clint nods and turns away, and Tony catches Bruce’s eye. “We should call Bucky,” he mouths and Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers, shaking his head but not outwardly arguing, which Tony decides to take as agreement,

 _Countdown initiated, Barton,_ Tony thinks, going back to his job of taping foam-shielding to all of the hard edges and corners in the sitting room. _Twenty-four hours and then I’m calling everyone home, whether you like it or not._


	3. Chapter 3

Tony wakes with a decidedly inelegant snort, flailing for a moment and trying to recall what he and Steve have fallen out over for him to be sleeping on the couch again. It takes him a couple of seconds to remember that Steve is in Myanmar, they haven’t argued about anything in weeks and that he’s sleeping on the couch because of the baby that Clint accidentally acquired.

“I am too old for this shit,” he groans as he sits up, back protesting. He rubs at his face vigorously, pauses as he realizes that he’s not the only one awake. “Clint?”

Clint blinks at him from his position on the floor, sitting with his back against the other couch. His eyes are wide and he’s got a giant  _ ‘I heart Black Widow’ _ mug clamped between both hands. It’s the largest mug in the communal kitchen, always reserved for the most injured or desperate team-member.

“Have you been to sleep at all?” Tony asks, pulling his shirt straight and wriggling to try and get the feeling back in his lower back and ass.

“No,” Clint says. “I - I got scared that if I went to sleep I wouldn’t hear her.”

Well, fucksticks. “That is a valid fear,” Tony concedes. “How long have you been wearing your hearing aids for?”

“Probably too long,” Clint admits.

“You know you need to let your ear canals breathe,” Tony says, getting up and stretching, padding over to the other couch and looking at Anna. She’s fast asleep with both her arms held up over her head like she’s cheering someone on in her dreams. She looks so peaceful and so tiny that Tony feels an irrational stab of worry that something will happen to her. He doesn’t know what it could be, but he’s sure something could. Aliens. Hydra. Measles. Thieves. Cold breezes.

“Bruce said that the manual said no blankets,” Clint says, as if he read Tony’s mind about the cold breezes thing. “I got Jarvis to turn the heating up but I keep thinking she’s too cold.”

“I think she’d let us know if she was too cold,” Tony says. “Did she sleep through?”

“Woke up at around three and wanted food,” Clint says. “I made her a bottle.”

Tony nods. “You’re doing great,” he says, and ignores Clint’s eye-roll. “Apart from running on no sleep, that is unsustainable and boy I know I’m one to talk.”

“What do I do?” Clint asks, brow furrowing. “I need to take care of her.”

Tony mulls it over for a moment and then he sighs and leans over to tug the mug of coffee out of Clint’s grasp. “Get on the couch and have an hour, at least,” he says. “Take the hearing aids out, sleep for an hour or two and I’ll watch her.”

“But,” Clint starts, and gives the other couch a longing stare. “Will you wake me up if she cries?”

“You can count on it,” Tony says, and prods him with his toes. “Go on.”

Clint literally crawls his way across the carpet and clambers onto the couch. He flops onto his back and gropes for his hearing aids, taking both out and dropping them to the floor. “Wake me if she-” he begins.

“Yes,” Tony says, sitting down on the floor exactly where Clint had been before. “I promise on my honor as Iron Man,” he says. “I promise on Steve’s honor.”

Clint laughs tiredly. “That’ll do,” he mumbles, closing his eyes. He wriggles around to get comfortable, heaves out a huge yawn and then goes still.

With larger Barton taken care of, Tony turns his attention to the smaller, carefully setting the mug of coffee well out of the way. She’s slept on through their whole conversation, oblivious to the world. Tony can’t help but look at her tiny little fingers, reaching out to gently brush his thumb across them. She flexes them but sleeps on and Tony is filled with a heady awe at biology and science and how two people could bang and literally make something like this. Well, it’s not like a surprise; he’s known the science of it since he was like eight, but actually seeing a baby this close up for an extended period of time...it makes it all seem so fucking insane and brilliant.

It’s not making him broody though, he’s pleased to note. And even if it did, he’d just go and look at the teenagers that are all passed out asleep in Arto’s room and it’d probably kill any desire to procreate.

He takes his phone out and pulls open a new schematic, thinking hard. Could he somehow link Clint’s hearing aids to a baby monitor? No, that would mean he’d have to be wearing the aids all the time which is the problem in itself. Maybe some other form of alert - a life alert! He could probably cannibalize one of those to make some sort of - no, a fitbit would be even better. They sync up to mobile phones already, it’d be a piece of cake to hook it up to a baby monitor.

He’s half watching Anna and half playing around with schematics on his phone when Arto appears in the stairwell, wearing yesterday’s clothes and with a blanket pulled around his shoulders.  

“Tony?”

“Good morning child, I’m over here on baby duty,” Tony calls softly. “Until she wakes up and then Clint can have her back.”

He hears Arto shuffling closer and looks around as Arto crouches down next to him, leaning into his side. He rubs the edge of the blanket against his nose, a gesture that makes him seem so painfully young all over again. Not as young as the baby Barton, but not quite his fifteen years, either. 

“Why are you still dressed from yesterday?” Tony asks quietly, saving his work on his phone and slipping an arm around the blanket bundle that is his son.

“We all slept in my bed and Peter and Omari didn’t have pyjamas with them.”

“You have enough they could have loaned,” Tony points out.

Arto shrugs. “We’re lazy teenagers?”

“Well at least you’re honest,” Tony says. “What day is it?”

“Sunday,” Arto says. “Can they stay?”

“I’ll make some calls,” Tony says absently. “You’re going in to school tomorrow though.”

“Dad,” Arto protests softly, but it doesn’t amount to much. 

Tony nudges him with an elbow. “Put the TV on if you like, volume off though. I’ll make some breakfast.”

“Handmade Stark Pancakes?”

“You gottit,” Tony says. “Keep an eye on baby Barton for me? If she wakes up, wake Clint up.”

Arto nods and clambers up onto the opposite end of the couch to Anna, pulling his feet up and resting his chin on his knees. He frowns slightly as he watches Anna, looking so much like his Dad that Tony is hit with a pang of loneliness, missing Steve’s presence acutely. He brushes it away, instead focussing on making enough pancakes to feed all the teenagers. Bruce wanders down halfway through, wearing soft plaid pajamas and with a piece of paper in hand. On it is a list of every item that he thinks they need to take care of a baby short term, complied from the manuals that Tony had downloaded.

“Make it two baby monitors,” Tony whispers, adding another pancake to the stack. “I’m going to rip one apart and make it better.”

“Of course you are,” Bruce says, and dutifully makes a note. “I’m happy to go and collect things, if someone comes with me to help carry.”

“I will,” Arto pipes up, waving from the couch, like they could somehow miss him. “I’ll ask Peter and Omari to help too? That way Clint and Tony can stay with the baby. Unless anyone else is coming home to help?”

“Just us for now,” Tony says, evading slightly as he remembers Arto’s request for him to call Steve. “The others will be back as soon as they can.”

“So you need my help, right?”

“I do,” Bruce says, with a quiet smile. “I’d appreciate it, Arto.”

“Sorted then,” Arto says, and picks up the plate of pancakes, holding it out for Tony to add one final one to the already towering stack. He liberates a bottle of syrup from the cupboard but forgoes cutlery, making his way back up to his room.

“Here,” Tony says, pulling his wallet out and sliding his AmEx over to Bruce. “Don’t tell Clint.”

Bruce nods, picking up the card. “I’ll go the moment the boys are ready,” he says, and then looks down at his pyjama clad self. “And when I’m ready,” he amends with a yawn. “How much sleep did Clint get?”

“None. I made him go and nap about twenty minutes ago,” Tony said. “I’m hoping the baby stays asleep-”

Even as he says it there’s a soft sound, then a decidedly less soft whimper and then a cry.

“Son of a bitch,” Tony says. “Did she hear me?”

“Shall I get a bottle made up?” Bruce says. 

“Please,” Tony says, and quickly abandons the leftover pancake mix and darts over to Anna. He dithers for a moment and then decides fuck it and leans down to pick her up, glancing over at Clint as he does.

“Shush, shush,” he says, attempting to hold her like he’s seen Clint do, bobbing up and down. “Shhh, don’t wake Clint up, he’s been asleep for like ten seconds.” 

Predictably, she doesn’t listen. She keeps on crying fitfully, looking around and pushing at Tony’s chest with a tiny little hand. He grits his teeth, feeling ill at ease and like his arms are suddenly not good enough, like they won’t bend the right way. He wishes he were in the suit, then he'd be able to lock the joints in place and Jarvis would be able to run vitals and check that Anna was okay.

Fuck.

“Clint,” he says loudly, and then shimmies over and nudges at Clint with his toes. Clint frowns and pushes his hand away, so Tony nudges him harder. At that, he jerks awake and sits up, blearily focussing on Tony and Anna.

“Oh, shit,” he croaks, and stumbles upright. “Okay, I got her.”

He takes her from Tony, holding her close and shushing her with soothing murmurs and a hand on the back of her head. She quietens down a little, even more so when Bruce appears with a bottle. Clint sits back down as he feeds her; she holds onto the bottle with both hands as he slumps back unto the corner of the couch, eyes unfocused and already sliding shut again. 

“Okay, I’m tagging myself in,” Tony says, amused despite himself. He leans in and gently slips his arms under Anna; Clint flails a little as he feels her being moved away from him but Tony shakes his head firmly and takes Anna.

“Sleep,” he mouths at Clint. “One more hour.”

Clint looks torn between gratitude and worry. Tony pointedly settles on the other couch, Anna held in the crook of his arm and happily feeding, her grey eyes flitting around as she does.

“We’re not going anywhere,” he says. “Sleep.”

Clint gives in and slumps back onto the couch. ‘“Wake me up if…” he begins, but doesn’t finish the sentence before he’s out again. Now that’s talent, Tony thinks. Nevermind Clint’s ability to hit the target the size of a dime from two hundred feet; his ability to fall asleep anywhere in less than thirty seconds is what’s truly impressive. 

With Clint conked out, Tony turns his attention back to Anna, the sense of awe overtaking him once again as he watched her feeding. What was more alarming was possibly the way that his brain seemed to have already envisioned a future that she was part of; he can oh-so-easily picture Clint and Bucky taking care of her, Arto playing with her with a pleased smile on his face, the baby paraphernalia that would join the rest of the mess that had moved in when Arto arrived. 

“Well, this wasn’t on the plan,” Tony says to her. “You’ve certainly disrupted the order around here, Anna Grace.”

She blinks slowly at him as if to say “I know,” and Tony can’t help but smile.

* * *

 

 

The rest of the day is chaos.

Clint gets exactly thirty-three minutes of sleep before Anna starts screaming again. It’s loud enough and close enough that he hears it, and the way he forces himself upright to try and deal with her is frankly a little awe-inspiring. She isn’t having any of it today though; she refuses food, cries, pushes her toys away, cries, screams when Clint changes her, cries, fitfully naps and cries some more. Clint endures it with an unwavering determination, his jaw set and shoulders tense. He looks eerily like Bucky does when Bucky goes into Mission Mode, though Tony decides that he won’t be telling Steve that any time soon. He tells Bruce though, and Bruce just nods and agrees. 

Bruce and his helpful crew of teenagers go on their shopping mission and come back laden with boxes and bags; Tony has fairly vivid flashbacks to the time that he sent Clint and Bucky shopping for Arto. Arto remembers too, idly making the comparison while carrying a boxed-up crib above his head, putting it down with a bang and announcing that he’s in charge of building.

Tony leaves him to it, and sets about pulling apart a fitbit and a baby monitor, right there at the kitchen counter. Peter immediately decides he wants in, eyes bright with glee as he and Tony set about project make-Clint-wake-up-when-the-baby-wakes-up. 

There’s another argument about calling Bucky. Clint pretends he can’t hear most of it, the asswipe.

Sue Storm drops by mid-afternoon, impressed with what they’ve achieved but worried about Anna’s constant crying. On her advice they call back Doctor Kelly, who gently breaks it to them that Anna will be upset because she’s in a completely different environment with different people, and that they’ll just have to suck it up and keep on going.  _ ‘Mister Hawkeye will be a great father,’ _ he says, like he knows shit about them all.  _ ‘Tell him not to worry and just wait it out.’ _

While in his problem solving mode, Tony also reviews the security footage from the morning before, and when Clint confirms that the delivery man was not Barney, calls Fed-Ex to find out who was responsible. Fed-Ex are indignant and shocked and make it very clear that no official Fed-Ex deliveries were made to Stark Tower yesterday, so the man was clearly an imposter. Tony sends over the footage to be doubly sure, and they confirm that whoever it was, it wasn’t one of their employees.

And at just before dinner-time, the cavalry arrives.  

The elevator slides open and the room collectively shits a brick as Natasha steps out into the light, in a manner which can only mean that she’s suddenly gone into a side-career of super-villainy. She goes absolutely still; it’s like she’s been frozen, or turned into a very startled-looking Tussauds waxwork. 

Peter nudges Arto who nudges Clint who turns around and visibly winces. “Hi?” he tries. 

Nat doesn’t move a muscle. 

Sam eyes her warily and steps around her; he claps eyes on Clint and whistles, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. “Oh sweet Jesus, you weren’t joking.”

“Would I joke about something like this?” Tony says indignantly, looking up from his almost-finished Barton-baby-alert. He’ll have to think of a better name when he sends it to R&D but for now it works.    

“Clint is holding a  _ baby _ ,” Sam says, like they’ve not noticed. “A baby!”

“Her name is Anna?” Clint says, it coming out like a question. “Nat, you’re scaring me.”

“ Tchyo za ga`lima? ” Nat whispers, and finally she blinks. Oh thank goodness, Tony was starting to feel twitchy. She starts to move, slow deliberate steps like a panther tracking down prey. 

“Still scared,” Clint announces, and takes a pointed step backwards, and then when she doesn’t stop, “Nat, seriously, you’re scaring me and I don’t need to be scared when I’ve got her so  _ back off. _ ” 

It might be the tone of his voice, or the look on his face, or the way he turns away from Nat, twisting his shoulder around like he’s protecting the baby. Whatever it is, it makes her stop and go lax and non-threatening: shoulders slumping, hands and eyes turning gentle. 

The rest of the room reacts too: Sam holds his hands up in a pacifying gesture even though he’s not to blame or really involved in the slightest; Bruce sets his palms flat on the counter and visibly braces himself for an argument; Arto sidles behind Peter, pressing his forehead to Peter’s shoulder to shield himself from the potential conflict. It makes Tony want to suit up and stand in front of him, maybe give Natasha a warning in the form of glowing repulsors. Not that he’s in the habit of thinking about fighting his friends, but Arto comes first. Always.  

“Okay,” Natasha says, voice low and soothing. “Clint I’m sorry.”

It’s all an act, Tony thinks. She’s still clearly in the realms of  _ ‘what the fuck’ _ but is now just hiding it, the same way she used to hide every genuine reaction from them all. 

“Don’t turn up just to be a dick,” Clint says, and then looks up at Tony, accusing. “Did you text her?”

“You told me I wasn’t allowed to call Bucky,” Tony points a screwdriver at Clint to underscore his point.

Clint’s scowl intensifies. “Stop pulling your loophole bullshit on me,” he snaps, and then curses again as Anna starts to cry once more. “Now look what you’ve made me do.”  

This time, he fully turns his back on Natasha, gently shushing Anna and rocking her side to side. It’s as if suddenly she’s the only thing in the room, the only thing he can care about. It’s at that moment, as Clint carries Anna towards the windows, humming some tune to her, that Tony realizes just how far gone Clint is for the baby, already. He doesn’t doubt it though; he’d fallen for Arto the moment he’d turned up as a six-year-old ball of biting, scratching fear and anger. 

Maybe that’s exactly why he’s been so protective over Barton and Baby Barton.

Natasha follows Clint, still unassuming and almost submissive in her mannerisms. She murmurs something and Clint visibly sighs, his shoulders heaving and then sinking. There’s a beat and then Arto darts across the room to Tony, standing behind him and winding his arms around his chest. Sam heads their way too, as does Peter.

“So, hi, I’m home, what the hell is going on?” asks Sam. “Where did the baby come from?”

Bruce’s mouth twitches, “Well, when two people love each other very much…”

“Don't even,” Sam cuts across him, closing his eyes and holding up a single finger. “Not today, Banner.”

“Sorry,” Bruce says, not looking it. “I guess we got our freaking out done yesterday.”

Sam shakes his head. “No, this requires more than a single day of freaking out. Someone left us with a baby, this is like at least forty-eight hours of freaking out. Come on, Bruce, freak out!”

Bruce blinks. “Am I really the best person to be saying that to?”

Tony carries on fiddling with the Barton-baby-alert, not pitching in right away.  _ Think smart, _ he tells himself. _ Think like Steve.  _

“Sam, can you freak out and drive at the same time?”

Sam throws his hands in the air. “I'm an Avenger! That's a prerequisite! I can freak out and drive  _ and _ look good doing it!”

“Alright,” Tony says. “Look good while taking Peter and Omari home?”

Instead of simply answering Tony’s request, Sam’s initial go-to is Arto. He looks at him to gauge his reaction, but Arto doesn't move in the slightest. With a lack of negative response - which most adults in the house have learned to take as a win - Sam nods. “Come on Parker, time to clear out,” he calls. “Go get your stuff and Omari, you've got twenty minutes then I'm leaving.” Peter nods and obediently makes to leave, backtracking to awkwardly hug Arto before waving at everyone else and vanishing into the elevator.

With non-family members taken care of, Tony turns his attention back to Nat and Clint. They're still talking in low voices; Clint is looking pinched and strained and Nat is still looking calm and purposefully non-threatening. They seem to have come to some sort of conclusion though, because Clint is nodding dejectedly and Natasha is leaning over to kiss his temple before she breaks away and comes back to the counter. 

“I am going to retrieve Barney Barton,” she says, like kidnapping a man is something she does everyday. Honestly it's more like once or twice a year at most. “Give me a few days.”

And  _ that's _ why Tony called her. Relief courses through him, even as Arto looks up from between Tony's shoulderblades. “Barney?” he says slowly, like he's unsure how he feels about the name, trying the shape of it out in his mouth. “Clint's brother? Is the baby actually his?”

“Yeah, she is,” Tony tells him. “Clint is technically uncle Clint.”

“But then why was Clint's name on the birth certificate?”

“That is what I'm going to find out,” Natasha says with a small, reassuring smile. “Don't worry yourself, Solnishka.”

Arto huffs. “Telling me not to worry is like telling Dad not to worry.”

Natasha doesn’t miss a beat. “Which Dad?”

“Both of them,” Arto grouches. “I’m  _ worrying. _ ”

“I never worry, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony says, and Arto lifts his head and lets it thunk back against Tony’s spine, a clear ‘shut up Dad’ in the form of a headbutt. Tony grins at Natasha who just shakes her head marginally, lips pressed together. “I’ll be back in a few days,” she repeats. “Depending how amenable Barney is to joining us.”

“Okay,” Tony says. “Be safe.”

“Always,” Natasha says, and she edges around to drop a kiss on Arto’s head before heading back towards the elevator.

“Goodbye then,” Sam calls pointedly. Nat rolls her eyes but does deign to blow him a kiss, which makes Sam grin before he waves her off.

“You’re a braver man than me,” Tony remarks.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Sam snorts. “You’ve spent over ten years dealing with Steve Rogers.”

Tony reaches across, trying to snag Bruce’s wrist. Bruce is used to Tony’s tactics though, and leans back out of his range. With a miniature super-soldier still clinging koala-like to his back, Tony has to concede defeat on physically dragging Bruce onto his side of the argument, instead returning to being hyper-verbal. “Bruce, back me up. Sam is the bigger lunatic, right?”

“Oh hell no! Bruce, he willingly married the state that is Steve I-jump-from-helicopters-for-fun Rogers. Steve I-eat-my-feelings Rogers. Steve-”

“Black Widow! They literally eat men for fun!”

“I’m pretty sure Nat has never eaten a man,” a tired voice butts in, and Clint appears at the counter. He’s got Anna resting against his chest and she’s leaning into him, blinking sleepily and gnawing on her finger. It’s the first time she’s seemed content all day, and Tony is definitely glad that the screaming has stopped for now. “I think - well. Uh, Tony? What does the manual say about baths?”

“It says that they are still advisable for teenagers,” Tony replies immediately, and Arto lifts his head to butt him again. “I don’t know, Bruce?”

“Looking,” Bruce says, tablet already back in hand.

“Hey, this is for you, too,” Tony says to Clint, holding out the Barton-baby-alert. “Give me your wrist.”

Looking wary, Clint does as bid. Tony fits the repurposed fitbit around his wrist and then reaches for the baby monitor, feeling Arto shift with him as he does. “Okay, someone make some noise,” he says, holding the baby monitor up. “Sam?”

“The hell is this?” Sam asks, confused, but it doesn’t matter because it works regardless. The baby monitor registers the volume of his voice and Clint nearly jumps out of his skin as the strap attached to his wrist starts to vibrate in short, sharp bursts.

“And you’re welcome,” Tony says, pleased. “Any noise over a certain level and that will alert you.”

Clint’s face breaks into a grin as he lifts his wrist, inspecting the band. “Nice,” he says. “I’m totally putting this against Bucky’s dick when he’s sleeping.”

There’s a collective groan around the counter, and Arto lets go of Tony to clamp his palms over his ears. “You ruined it!” Tony says. “You ruined my awesome gift that I just invented specially for you, you took the gift and you ruined it with gross talk about Barnes’ dick.”

“And mildly dubious consent,” Bruce adds vaguely.

“Hey, I’ll have you know that Bucky and I have a clear agreement and safewords and everything, it’s not like I’d sleep-touch his dick if I’d not checked that-”

“Please don’t,” Arto calls pitifully. “Please, stop talking, Clint.”

“Sorry,” Clint says, and then belatedly looks down at Anna. “Sorry. Oh god, I just talked about a dick in front of you, I’m the worst person in the world-”

Arto lifts his head. “Stop talking about dicks!”

“This is what happens when I try and do something nice,” Tony tells Sam. “It turns into anarchy and dicks.”

“That’s the title of Bucky’s autobiography!” Clint quickly says before Sam can even form a syllable. “Ha, yes!”

“Okay, okay, who wants to learn how to bathe a baby?” Bruce hastily calls before Sam can retort. “Section four point six in the manual, we need the tub we bought earlier, a thermometer, towels, clean clothes and the baby wash.”

“Okay people,” Tony says. “Clint has the baby, Sam is about to go and make sure Parker and Omari are actually planning on leaving, everyone else Assemble for dinner, chores and then bathtime.”

“Sir, yes, Sir,” Arto says, and he and Bruce head for the pile of baby supplies that’s against the back of the couch. Clint meets Tony’s eye and nods, a grateful smile quirking the corner of his mouth.

  
  


* * *

“Mind her head.”

“Mind her head? Like you know what you’re doing any more than Arto does?”

“Shut up, Wilson, you’re not helping.”

“Yeah Wilson, shut up.”

“You shut up, pint-size.”

Tony bites back a laugh at the way the usual bickering is being undertaken in whispers, with all three participants huddled around the plastic baby bath that’s in the middle of the lounge. Clint is perfectly balanced in a crouch and Arto is on his knees at the side of the tub. Sam has been back for all of two minutes and has immediately beelined for Clint and the baby instead of even getting himself any dinner, the sucker. Anna is splashing happily away, babbling a string of ‘b’ and ‘g’ sounds. It’s weirdly peaceful and domestic: there’s a documentary about the Galapagos on the TV with Clint’s subtitles along the bottom as always, leftover dinner being cleaned up by Bruce, a general feeling of contentment and peace in the room. It’s nice, but it makes Tony miss Steve like an actual physical pain. He absently thumbs at his wedding band, wishing that Steve was here beside him.  

He watches Arto as he helps with bath-time, watches the amazement and joy play out over his face, just like Clint’s. Damn. They’re both getting ridiculously attached to the tiny Barton baby, and with Natasha already on the way to Iowa to not-kidnap Barney-

And Tony promptly stops thinking as from the bathtub comes the sound of the tiniest little laugh. 

Sam throws his hands in the air like he’s just witnessed a touchdown, Arto claps his hands over his mouth and Clint falls back off his heels and onto his ass. 

“Do it again!” Sam says, hands still in the air. Arto nods frantically and Tony stands up just in time to watch him dip his fingers back into the water and splash Anna’s face. She laughs again, arms waving manically and legs kicking more water all over the place. 

“Atta girl,” Clint grins. “Oh my god, look at you laughing, you’re  _ laughing. _ ”

“She’s actually cute,” Sam says. “She’s related to you and she’s cute, that’s unprecedented. Man, you have got to get Bucky back to see this. Take a photo and send it to him.”

Clint’s face literally shutters. Arto’s laughter fades too, and he looks uncertainly from Sam to Clint and back again. Tony internally goes to the Avengers version of Defcon 3, bracing himself for imminent action. The only reason it’s not a 2 is that he’s pretty sure there will be no real yelling while Clint has the baby in his arms.

“Arto, get me a towel,” Clint says. “Move your hands, I’ll get her out and then you can-”

“Hang on, hang on,” Sam says slowly. “Bucky knows about this, right? You’ve called him and explained to your husband that you have come into the possession of your brother’s baby?” He narrows his eyes at Clint, reaching out to shove lightly at his shoulder. “I know you can hear me, you’re wearing your hearing aids, don’t pretend you can’t.”

“Maybe I turned them off,” Clint says, still focussing entirely on Anna and not looking at Sam. 

“And what, carried on wearing them as an accessory?” Sam says, then looks up around the room at Tony and Bruce. “Someone please tell me that Bucky and Steve are fully in the know and are currently on their way back to help deal with this situation.”

Bruce doesn’t say anything, which means Tony has to. Great. What is he, unofficial spokesman for family decisions made within the tower? “It’s Clint’s call,” he finally says.

“Oh hell no,” Sam exclaims. “This is not a Clint’s call. This is a call his goddamn husband because things Clint does affects both of them, did you lot learn nothing from the whole deal when he went to Asgard?”

“Sam you’re preaching to the choir here,” Bruce says gently. “We know.”

Tony frowns. “Church metaphors? Since when?”

“Tony, focus!” Sam says. “How have you not called Steve?”

“Clint asked me not to yet!” Tony exclaims. 

“That still stands,” Clint says, lifting Anna out of the tub and carefully laying her in Arto’s arms, wrapping the towel around her. “You got her, Short Round?”

“This is bullshit. I’m calling Bucky,” Sam says, getting to his feet. “He’s my friend and I think he should-”

“Stop making calls for Bucky, you are not his fucking therapist,” Clint snaps back, leaning back a little so he can look up at Sam. “You’re overstepping the line.”

“Stop it,” Arto says, louder than both of them. “Stop it.” 

“We’re okay, kid,” Sam says, clearly making an effort to control his volume, though his tone is still audibly tense. 

“No you’re not, you’re fighting and all talking about what Clint should do and she’s not even been here that long! You always tell me to not make decisions when I’m scared or angry, you’re not even giving him time to  _ think- _ ”

He holds Anna out towards Clint, trembling. Clint takes her, looking lost for words. “Arto-”

“I’m going to bed,” Arto says, voice suspiciously thick as he clambers to his feet, not looking at anyone. 

“Kid,” Sam sighs, reaching out for him.

“No, I’m not talking to you! You don’t get to come home just to yell at us!” Arto snaps at him, pushing Sam’s hands aside. Oh god, Tony can see how pink his neck is going from here. Avengers-Defcon 2 it is, then.

Tony stands up. “Arto-”

“No, I’m not talking to you either because you said you’d call Steve and you fucking didn’t!” Arto shouts, and then he’s running towards the stairs without looking back.

Silence falls. Tony can only stand there, feeling more than a little lost. By the looks on other faces, he’s not the only one. Sam looks caught between guilt and defiance; Tony totally gets his point, but by now the point has been made at Clint so many times that no wonder he’s sick of it. Oh well. Maybe Sam echoing what Tony’s been saying will push Clint into picking up his goddamn phone. First things first though, breaking the awkward tension, stat.

“Do we really have to keep letting it get to the point where the malfunctioning teenager is telling us off?” Tony asks. “We’re supposed to be the adults here.”

“I am trying to adult, look at me,” Clint says pointedly nodding down at Anna.

“You should try adulting and call your husband,” Sam says, though now he just sounds tired. “Why is that even a question? You think he’s going to get back and suddenly say that you’re not allowed to keep her? You think he won’t want her around-”

“He’ll want her too much!” 

Wait, what?

At Clint’s shout, everyone turns to look at him. He takes a defensive step back, looking like he’s regretting his outburst. 

“What do you mean, Clint?” Bruce asks carefully.

“You’re all thinking he won’t want anything to do with her, you don’t  _ know, _ ” Clint says, growing increasingly agitated. “If he gets home and sees her, he’ll fall in love with her and he’ll want us to keep her, and if Barney then takes her away it’ll break his heart. He’s the one who wants to do the whole family thing, you all knew that when we got married!”

Oh shit. Now that’s not something that Tony had even considered. Here they all are thinking about Clint’s attachment to the baby and they hadn’t even thought about Bucky.  “Yeah, but I didn’t-” Tony starts, realizes he’s got nothing. “No, I got nothing. You know him better.”

“Yeah I do,” Clint says firmly. “And I’m getting attached to her and he’ll be ten times worse. I can’t dangle it in front of him and then let her be taken away.”

Tony thinks back to the arguments he and Steve had over Arto, the moment he’d been terrified that Steve would send Arto away. How angry and acerbic it had made him, the cruel things he’d said because he was scared.

Then he thinks about Bucky. Bucky Barnes, who managed to break seventy years of brainwashing and conditioning because of just how attached he was to Steve. Bucky Barnes, who was always so protective over Arto, who has spent years silently shadowing Arto at school and around the city, even when Arto hated him. 

Clint’s right. Bucky would love Anna on sight, have his heart broken by her departure and weather it like he’s done so every other time the universe has screwed him over. He’d not complain, not make a big deal out if it. He’d just accept it and be there for Clint and Arto and everyone else who was upset by it. Just like when Clint ran away to Asgard; Bucky had been the one holding everyone together even as he’d been begging them to back off and let him be the one to freak out.

Feeling oddly humbled and guilty, Tony looks across at Sam, who is standing with folded arms and watching Clint carefully. He’s probably working out how to say his piece without upsetting Clint any more.

“Okay, now you’ve said that, I get that, I really do,” Sam says, holding out a pacifying hand. “But remember how pissed he got at you when you didn’t talk to him when you got blown up? And do you honestly feel like you can do this without telling him? What if he and Steve finish up in Myanmar tomorrow and he walks through that door to find Anna here, and you’ve not told him?”

Clint doesn't have an answer for that. He bites his lip, glancing down at Anna.

“And Arto needs Steve home because this is a huge emotional deal for him and I said I’d call him,” Tony adds. “Which I’ve been putting off because I knew you didn’t want to-”

“That’s not fair,” Clint interjects, looking hurt. “Don’t put Arto on my conscience too.”

“Sorry?” Tony offers. “Come on, Hawkguy. Don’t do this on your own. I mean, me and Bruce have been brilliant but we’re not Bucky, not for you.”

And Clint is nodding jerkily, his eyes far too bright. “You said his phone was off.”

“Like that’s going to stop me,” Tony points out.

Clint blows out a breath, looks at the ceiling. “Fine. Call him.”

Tony nods and then acts on impulse and walks over to pull Clint into a careful hug, Anna cradled safely between them. Clint goes tense and then slumps, his forehead knocking against Tony’s shoulder.

“This is all part of plan H point two, don’t worry,” Tony tells him. “It has a happy ending.”

“Just call him,” Clint says, and pulls away, hitching Anna up and gently shushing her. “Do it before I run away to Asgard to get away from all you lot.”

“That is not funny,” Sam says pointedly, and Clint ignores him.

“Alright, let it go, Wilson, allow the man his bad jokes,” Tony advises. “And Jarvis?”

“Yes Sir?”

“Override Bucky’s cell and call him.”

“As you wish.”  
  


 

* * *

The phone rings and rings and then cuts out. Tony isn’t bothered - that’s just Bucky hanging up on him and turning his phone off again. Clint bites back a curse but Tony ignores him. He tries again, and everyone shifts restlessly as it starts to ring again. It rings twice, three times, then-

“What the actual goddamn fuck is this, Stark, stop turning my phone on, I’m busy!”

Tony makes a slightly skeptical sound. “Really? Right this moment now, are you busy?”

“Well I’ve got my cell in one hand and a terrorist in the other, yes I’m fucking busy.”

“Really? You have a terrorist in your hand right now?”

“Oh for-” Bucky’s voice vanishes and then Tony’s stomach jumps as another familiar voice comes on the line.

“Tony? We’re kind of tied up here!”

Ah, shit. Maybe they are actually busy then, and it’s not just Bucky being awkward. “Steve, love of my life, my darling, my hunk of all American muscle-”

“Tony, Bucky literally has a terrorist in a headlock and I’m carrying a vial of something that could probably kill us all if I drop it, what do you want?!”

“We have a situation at the tower,” Tony says. “No-one is hurt, don’t panic.”

“You cannot-” there’s a yelp, a crash and the sound of Bucky cursing. “Fuck's sake, Bucky, you’ve got zipties, just wrap him up-” More crashing and scared babbling, quickly lost under Steve’s terse tones. “Tony, you have deliberately turned Bucky’s phone on to call him when you know we’re busy, you can’t tell me not to fucking panic-!” 

“Bucky, get hands free and safe, I need to talk to you,” Clint cuts firmly across Steve’s rapidly escalating stress, which is probably a good thing seeing as Tony has no idea how to actually calm him down or break the news to Bucky.

“Give me ten,” Bucky’s voice says immediately, and there’s a series of beeps as whoever has got the phone hangs up. 

“So,” Tony says, unable to keep quiet what with how nervous he’s feeling. His knee is jumping, toes bouncing against the tiled floor.  “What is it with Barnes and headlocks?” 

“Ninety-two percent success rate,” Clint says, gently bopping Anna on the nose with a soft toy rabbit. She beams, grabbing at it and quite predictably trying to stuff it into her mouth

“Down from ninety-five?” Tony asks.

“Steve’s learned to slip them,” Clint says. “Threw off the stats.”

“Steve is an outlier and should not be counted,” Sam says, drumming his fingers against the counter. “According to Bucky, anyway.”

That makes Tony oddly proud, and he hides a grin behind his palm. He’s about to make a comment about Steve being able to best anything that anyone can throw at him, but he’s derailed by his phone ringing, Steve’s name flashing on the screen. 

“Alright, clench up,” Tony says, and puts it on speaker before answering.

“Explain,” Steve says by way of greeting. Wow, he’s bypassed confused and gone straight to pissy, though Tony is smart enough not to say that out loud.

“Is Red Peril there?”

“Here and hands free,” Bucky’s voice says. “Clint, are you okay?”

“I’m okay, though I need you to come home as soon as possible,” Clint says, and then without any further preamble he adds, “because Barney had a baby and put my name on the birth certificate and someone dropped the baby off here, so I’m looking after her.”

There’s a beat of silence and then Bucky whispers, “What the actual fuck did you just say to me?”

Clint huffs, like  _ Bucky _ is the one being difficult. “I’ve ended up with Barney’s baby. Natasha’s gone to find Barney, but as it stands the birth certificate says I’m the father and I’m looking after her, so yeah.” He swallows hard and closes his eyes. “Her name is Anna.”

“We’re coming home,” Steve’s voice immediately says. “Tony, is Arto okay?”

“Yes, we’re all fine, we just wanted to let you guys know that was accidentally acquired another kid.”

“What do you fucking mean, oh my fucking god,” Bucky’s voice is steadily growing louder and louder. “You absolute bastards, what do you fucking mean you have a baby? A motherfucking  _ baby? _ Clint, are you fucking shitting me? The goddamn birth certificate says-? Where’s your brother, I’m going to kill him, shut up Steve, no I will not fucking well calm down-!”

Bucky’s voice is abruptly replaced by Steve’s. “We’re on the way,” he says grimly. “Keep me updated.”

“Yeah, what he said,” Bucky says. “We’ll be back in twelve hours.”

“Whoa,” Steve cuts in. “More like twenty-four, Bucky-” 

“My husband has acquired a baby we’re going home right fucking now!” Bucky bellows. “Give me the keys, I’m going without you, give me the fucking keys, Steven, you fucking fuck-”

“Ow, goddamn it Bucky-” There’s the sound of a thud and a distant shout. “Twenty-four to thirty two, we cannot leave the terrorists with the goddamn nerve-agent, asshole! Okay, guys? Tony? Yeah, he’s back on mission, we’ll wrap up and be there as soon as we can.”

“Deal,” Tony says. “Stay safe.”

“I will,” Steve says, and then the phone is beeping and he’s gone again, presumably to both finish the mission and keep a lid on Bucky.

“I told you he’d have a heart attack,” Clint says, a little forlornly. 

“More worried about Steve to be honest,” Tony says. “Bucky better not go off on one and leave-”

“Oh shut up,” Clint interrupts, though it lacks heat. “Bucky do anything to put Steve at risk? Come on.”

“I have seen Bucky throw Steve through windows on several occasions,” Tony points out.

“Yeah, that’s always  _ planned _ ,” Clint says, with an eye-roll. “That’s different.”

Sam snorts with laughter. “Okay, I got ten bucks on sixteen hours. Anyone?”

Bruce raises a hand. “Ten on twenty.”

“I’ll throw in ten on twenty-four, I have faith in Steve,” Tony yawns. “Right, I’m going to go deal with Smart-Art. Do you guys have this for the next few hours?”

“I got her,” Clint says. “We might try sleeping again, test out my fancy new vibrator.”

Sam presses his fingers to his temples. “Please never say that ever again.”

“Me and Sam got Clint,” Bruce says, with a tired smile. “Go, Tony.”

“Call me if you need me,” Tony says, and he hovers for a moment before tearing himself away, heading upstairs to go and find the tower’s other resident baby. Eh, maybe not a real baby anymore, but maybe to Tony he always will kind of be.

He heads to Arto’s floor and finds it empty; he has a moment of brief  _ ‘oh my god panic’  _ but then as he thinks through the events of the day a suspicion grows.

“Jarvis, is Arto in mine and Steve’s room by any chance?”

“He is indeed, Sir,” Jarvis says softly.

Tony smiles and takes the stairs up to the master suite in the penthouse. His bedroom door is open and he can see the flickering lights of the TV before he even steps foot through the doorway to see the suspiciously Arto-shaped lump that’s wrapped up in blankets on Steve’s side of the bed. It’s like a teenager version of a damn caterpillar in a cocoon. Maybe Arto’ll unwrap the blanket and have gone through puberty in its entirety, transformed into a functioning adult. The thought makes Tony’s chest ache in a strange way. Puberty and Arto may be turning out to be a horrible combination but the thought of him being an adult somehow sucks even more. 

“He’s on his way home,” Tony calls, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching out to gently stroke his fingers across Arto’s just-about-visible forehead. “Twenty-four to thirty-two hours. But he knows, and he’s coming home.”

The Arto-lump doesn’t move. “I showered,” it finally says, sounding suspiciously wobbly. “Can I stay here?”

Tony clambers onto the bed to lounge back against his cushions. “Sure you can,” he says easily. He’s barely reclined before Arto is rolling over, pushing himself into Tony’s side with his face pressed right into his armpit. He doesn’t bother to unwrap himself, so Tony just drapes an arm over him, blankets and all.

“You’re still my favorite baby, you know that?”

Arto groans. “Stop it,” he whines. “Tony, you’re so lame.”

“I’m your dad, comes with the territory,” Tony says, but he’s smiling and Arto is still snuggled into his side and somehow that makes everything else seem okay. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in Ireland, giving uploading via mobile a shot. As such, sorry for anything screwy.

“I have slept… four hours in the past two nights, ” Clint says, staring vacantly at Anna with wide unblinking eyes. “I feel so drunk right now.”

“That’s sleep deprivation for you,” Tony says, toasting Clint with his coffee mug and watching as Anna systematically mashes a banana into mush. Most of it is smeared against the plastic tray attached to the high-chair they’d bought for her. The rest is over her face and hands. He thinks maybe twelve percent has actually made it into her mouth.

“Having a baby is hard,” Clint says, like he’s confused by the fact. He reaches out to swipe a chunk of mushy banana off of Anna’s cheek, pushing it towards her mouth. “So hard. Like super hard.”

“You must be tired, you didn’t even add a ‘that’s what he said’ joke to that,” Tony observes. “How’s the Barton-baby-alert working?”

“Fine,” Clint says, holding his hand up to show off the alert that’s still on his wrist. “Better now it’s uneven vibrations. Though I kind of don’t trust it? I mean – no, I trust it to work, but it’s hard to just go to sleep and not worry. It’s like the Avengers alarm thing all over again.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Tony shrugs. “I’ll only be mildly insulted that you don’t trust my technology.”

“Thanks,” Clint says, evidently too tired to engage with his usual verbal sparring and sarcasm. Tony takes pity on him and heads over to pour him another coffee. He yawns widely, scratching his stomach and basking in the warm morning light that comes through the windows. He likes this part of the morning, whether it’s from getting up early or staying up late.

In his pocket, his phone starts to buzz. He gropes for it and squints at the display, smiling when he sees Steve’s picture smiling back at him.

“Hey,” he says, slipping the phone between his cheek and shoulder, hands busy with the coffee. “Good morning.”

“You sound very awake,” Steve replies, sounding pretty perky himself. “Have you been to bed?”

“Yeah, for a bit,” Tony says. “I’m with Clint, got up around six. Solidarity and all that.”

“Well, we’re about three hours out,” Steve says, and Tony feels a giddy rush of relief. “Bucky is…well. He’s got about three more curse-words before I sedate him.”

In the background, Tony hears something that sounds like a grumpy, “fuck off, Steve.”

“That’s two,” Steve says cheerfully. “We’re okay. How’s Clint?”

“Running on empty but performing admirably," Tony says. He turns around to see Clint extricating Anna from her high-chair, smiling as she babbles at him. She seems to nuzzle into him as he carries her over to the seating area, pressing her face into his shoulder and grasping tightly hold of his shirt. She's way happier today than she was yesterday, back to beaming smiles and babbling. Hilariously, she seems to have got the same bed-head as her current stand-in parent; her downy-black hair is sticking up in wayward tufts just like Clint's is. 

“Yeah?” Steve says, the question obvious in his voice. Tony doesn’t want to say too much, not while he and Steve are in earshot of the Barton-Barnes bromance. Considering what Clint told them about the risk of Bucky getting attached, he doesn’t think it’d be wise to openly discuss how he thinks Clint is already super-attached.

“Yeah,” he opts for saying, after a pause. He doesn’t know if Steve understands what he’s not saying; sometimes Steve has an uncanny knack for reading him and other times it takes blunt force to get Steve to understand what he’s thinking and feeling.

“Three hours,” Steve says gently. “Is the landing pad clear?”

“Ready and waiting,” Tony says. “And I hope I can say this without risking the Red Peril bursting a blood vessel anywhere because my intention is not to piss him off or be patronising, but Bucky is aware that the baby and Arto will both appreciate a calm, soothing entrance?”

“He knows,” Steve says. “He’ll be fine once he gets here, right Buck?”

“Why do you think I’m being so fucking grouchy now?” Bucky’s voice says. “I’m getting it out of my system so I can be nice when I get back. Has Barney turned up yet?”

Tony glances at the clock. “No,” he admits. “No word from Natasha.”

“Okay,” Steve says evenly. “We’ll cross that stream when we come to it.”

“Yep, that weaponised, prone-to-stabbing stream,” Tony agrees.

Bucky makes a rude noise. “Shut your hole, I’ve not ever stabbed someone without being authorised, and you know it.”

“Not since you stabbed me, anyway,” Steve adds.

Tony winces. On one hand it’s great that Steve no longer sinks into morbid depression when anyone reminds him about Bucky - full Winter Soldier Bucky - trying to kill him. On the other hand, even  _ he  _ knows that’s a little tactless. “Steve, darling, you are sometimes not as helpful as you think you are.”

“I’m delightful,” Steve says. “See you soon.”

“Love you,” Tony says quickly.

He can hear Steve’s smile even through the line. “Love you too.”

He hangs up and tosses his phone aside, turning back towards Clint and watching as Clint lays Anna down on the changing mat, talking softly to her. He’s grinning, leaning down and tugging her socks off, blowing raspberries against her feet as he does. He seems so insanely happy that Tony can’t help but quickly fumble back for his phone, discreetly snapping a picture of the pair of Bartons before quickly going back to making coffee.

“Caffeine ready when you are,” he says to Clint, wandering over and setting the mug on the step down to the seating area, seeing as the coffee table was removed in the baby-proofing purge. “Unless you want to nap?”

“No, I’m okay,” Clint says, eyes on Anna as he works slowly through changing her. “What did Steve say?”

“That they’d be three hours,” Tony shrugs. “That Bucky’s calmed down quite significantly. Has he not tried to call you?”

“No,” Clint says. “He text me once, but he’s not called.”

“That’s…”

“That’s about normal,” Clint says, trying to slip a clean diaper under Anna without her kicking it away. He’s getting better at it, but she still sometimes bests him with her teeny tiny limbs. “I’m not worried.”

_ Liar, _ Tony thinks but doesn’t call him out on it because he’s distracted by footsteps in the stairwell. Sure enough, Arto stumbles in, bleary eyed and yawning and clutching his backpack like his life depends on it.

“Good morning sunshine,” Tony grins.

Arto just grunts and clambers onto one of the stools at the counter, still hugging his backpack to him, curling over it. “Don’t want to go.”

“Well there’s a surprise, a Monday morning and you don’t want to go to school,” Tony says, heading over to him and leaning down to press a kiss to the back of his head. “What’s your schedule this week?”

“Same,” Arto mumbles. “Westchester today and tomorrow, swimming Wednesday afternoon, Midtown Thursday, Friday.”

“Parker staying over on Thursday night then?” Tony asks, and Arto nods into his backpack.

“Yeah, as long as you don’t try and make him help with the baby again,” he says, then lifts up and looks around like he forgot all about the baby. He shoves his backpack onto the counter and beelines over to Clint and the baby. He leans over Clint’s shoulders and Clint has to throw out a hasty hand to brace himself; Arto still sometimes forget how heavy he’s getting.

_ Oh no,  _ Tony thinks quietly, distantly. He’s already got all the options as far as Anna is concerned mapped out in his head, and her not staying is still a possibility. But the way Arto is talking sounds like he’s expecting Anna to stay, to at least be here by Thursday. It frustrates him that they’re not going to know until Natasha gets back; she’s been gone over twelve hours and so theoretically could be back at any moment with answers or a third Barton to add to the pair they’ve already got.

Though if Barney is any sort of adept criminal, it could take her much longer to find him.

It plays around in Tony’s mind as he helps Arto with his breakfast, as he helps him track down his missing history textbook, as he sorts him something to take for lunch. With Bucky out of the country – or in its airspace – and Clint on baby duty, it falls to Tony to drive Arto to school. He doesn’t mind; he likes driving and sometimes it’s nice to spend some one on one time with Arto.

Even if Arto doesn’t say a word for the first forty minutes of the journey. Still, Tony reckons that it can count as silent bonding time. 

They’re almost there when Arto decides to break the silence; he’s obviously been brooding during silent bonding time because when he does speak, he continues staring out of the passenger window, his feet kicked up onto the dashboard. He’s got on Steve’s sunglasses and is eating a snickers like he didn’t have breakfast less than an hour ago.

“Tony?”

“Arto.”

“What do you know about Clint’s brother? Barney?”

“I know he’s a couple of years older than Clint,” Tony says. “And I know…that sometimes Clint doesn’t like him too much. They had a rough childhood.”

“Yeah,” Arto says absently. “His parents were assholes.”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees. “I don’t really know much more, kidlet. I know that Barney’s got a larger criminal record than Clint, that’s for sure.”  

“You’ve all got criminal records,” Arto says dismissively.

“Steve doesn’t, I don’t think?” Tony says, thinking hard but then deciding that that doesn’t matter right now. “Okay, we’re Avengers, accidental criminality sometimes is part of the game. Barney Barton is different. He goes out with the intention of being a criminal.”

“He’s not taking Anna,” Arto says casually, balling up the wrapper and dropping it into the footwell. “Clint won’t let him. I won’t let him.”

“This may not be something you get a say in,” Tony says carefully, pulling off the interstate, glancing across at Arto who still hasn’t moved to face him. 

Arto doesn’t reply straight away. Then, “Bucky won’t let him.”

“Well…” Tony says. “Lets just wait Bucky out. He’s never easy to work out.”

“No,” Arto agrees. “Multicoloured.”

“Thought you’d upgraded him to blue?”

Arto just shrugs, and Tony leaves him be with it. It’s strange really, Tony muses. Before Arto arrived and everything with Clint being deafened went down, he honestly just saw Steve as his boyfriend and then everyone else counted as teammates and friends. Now, Steve is his husband and somehow Barnes and Barton have made their way into the ‘family’ part of Tony’s brain. Maybe even his heart as well. 

Weird. Ten years ago, if he’d have been told that he’d be upgrading his teammates to family, he’d have put his money on Bruce. 

“I’ll call the school and get them to put you on if anything happens,” he tells Arto, who finally turns to look at him, expression inscrutable behind the borrowed aviators. 

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Can you get Steve to ring me when he gets back anyway?”

“Of course,” Tony says. “Drop into the office when you get in, let them know you’re expecting him back.”

Arto nods and goes back to staring out of the window. “Tony?” he says quietly.

“Mmm?”

“Love you,” Arto mumbles.

Tony smiles. “Love you too, Smart Art.”

 

* * *

 

Tony takes a detour on the way home, picks up some flowers and several boxes of super expensive chocolates. He briefly contemplates ringing Pepper but then decides to leave it until they know what’s happening with the baby Barton. If Clint thinks Bucky would have a heart-attack about the news, Pepper most definitely will. 

Arriving back home and laden with gifts, he parks the car and takes a detour to the lobby of the tower. Luckily, Julia is on shift when he appears and she looks both surprised and touched when Tony thrusts the bunch of flowers at her.

“Thank you for helping with the Fed-Ex baby,” he says. “These are for you and the chocolates are for Tulio and anyone else who helped. I can’t remember. Greg?”

“Graham,” Julia says with a smile. “Thank you. Or should I thank Jarvis?”

“No, these are all me,” Tony says, with a vague hand-wave. “Though I should probably get Jarvis to order something for Sue.”

“I can do that for you,” Julia says. “How is the baby?”

“Fine,” Tony says, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “Crawling. I didn’t think she was big enough for crawling. But apparently she is.”

Julia smiles. “She’ll be walking before you know it.”

“God I hope not-” Tony says fervently. “She’s enough trouble as she is.”

Even as he’s talking to her, he notices Julia’s eyes flick to something behind him. She visibly falters for a moment and then when she looks back to him, discreetly nods her head over towards the doors. Tension tightening his shoulders, Tony turns to see what’s she’s looking at, and then his heart leaps as he spots familiar red hair.

Natasha.

And she’s not alone.

She’s walking casually through the atrium, her arm linked through the elbow of an unfamiliar man. Even as Tony thinks it, he scans the guy’s face and realises that he  _ knows  _ that profile. The hair is a shade too long and is the wrong colour, and the set of his jaw is different. Despite that, there’s no mistaking it: another Barton.

“Morning, Tony,” Natasha calls, propelling her decidedly irritated looking charge along with her. “So I was out shopping in Iowa and I found this.”

“This isn’t legal,” Barney Barton says through gritted teeth. “This is kidnapping.”

“You agreed to come with me,” Natasha says to him. “Don’t start pretending otherwise.”

“Yeah, you look perfectly willing to me,” Tony says as they come to a halt in front of him. “And if we want to talk legal, there’s a lot I could be saying about you, too.”

Barney’s face clouds over. God, the resemblance to Clint is even more pronounced now that he’s scowling. “What do you even want from me?” he says in an undertone. “Look, I know I should have-”

“Hang on, sorry, I can’t hear you,” Tony says loudly, all too aware of Julia’s quiet curiosity behind him. His lawyers will have a fit if he asks them to sort out another batch of last-minute non-disclosure paperwork. “Maybe I’ll be able to hear you better in the elevator.”

“No,” Barney protests but Tony is already on the move, and Nat still has her arm linked through Barney’s. He resists for a moment but Tony has faith in Nat; sure enough, he hears a gasp and something that sounds like  _ ‘ow, ow, ow,’ _ and then there’s footsteps following him across the atrium and into the privacy of the elevator.

The doors slide shut, and Tony turns to face Barney again. He’s a fairly handsome man, Tony concedes. Rugged looking at the moment, with days of stubble of his jaw and his dark auburn hair an untidy sweep across his forehead. He’s got a bit of a roguish look about him too, the same edge that Clint has hidden in his smirk. 

“Okay, now you can talk,” Tony says.

Barney opens his mouth and then closes it again, belatedly yanking his arm away from Natasha and scowling at her. “You didn’t have to drag me into the building,” he says. “Believe me, if I didn’t want you to find me, you wouldn’t have been able to.”

“We did try and call,” Tony points out.

Barney huffs, runs his hands through his hair. “I never meant for any of this,” he says. “Look, I didn’t know that Amy was even pregnant, not until she died and they called me-”

“Called you? Then why is Clint’s name on the birth certificate?”

Natasha leans back against the wall. It’s wonderfully, casually intimidating and Tony is _ so _ glad he’s not on the wrong side of that look today. She fixes Barney with a cool stare. “We’ve already had a polite chat about how wise it is of him to carry fake ID in Clint’s name.”

“Took you four years to find out I was doing it,” Barney snipes back. 

“That is probably not the way to get on our good side?” Tony suggests. “You’re in enough trouble as it is.”

Barney doesn’t answer. He reaches up to rub his face, looking harried and tired. Tony’s sympathy is limited though, considering.

The doors silently sweep open and Tony’s stomach sinks as he hears Clint’s voice in animated discussion with Sam. ‘ _ This is it,’ _ he thinks, bracing himself. He feels an urge to start talking, to say something flippant or make a joke but he can’t. There’s too much at stake here today. He clamps his lips together hard and waits for Nat to guide Barney out of the elevator onto the communal floor, silently following.

The moment that Clint spots Barney is marked by an abrupt and very loud silence.

Tony watches as Clint slowly stands up, Anna on his hip. She’s in a whole new outfit again; evidently there’s been some disaster with either a diaper or food. Whatever the reason, she’s now in a purple babygrow that is the exact right shade of Hawkeye, and it makes Tony’s chest ache. For his part, Clint looks like he’s been stunned; his mouth is hanging open slightly and he looks utterly lost for words. Barney meets his gaze and then it obviously shifts to Anna. His mouth works a little and then he looks down and away, lips pressing tight.

“Hi,” he finally says, quietly.

Clint breathes in and out slowly, deliberately. “Do better than hi.” 

“I figured she’d be safe with you,” Barney says, helplessly gesturing to Anna.

“Don’t even fucking start,” Clint snaps. “You abandoned her, you piece of shit.”

“Clint-”

“No, don’t even!” Clint hisses. “You knew she was yours and you still just ditched her like you ditch everyone-”

“You want to start that argument?” Barney cuts across him. “Last I checked you were the one who ditched me.”

“Just shut up,” Clint says, sounding disgusted. “I can’t even believe you.”

“As touching as this is,” Natasha interrupts. “We didn’t bring you here so you two could argue. We need to decide what’s going to happen with Anna.”

“Anna,” Barney says, distracted. Tony braces himself for Barney to simply say ‘ _ you keep her I’m going home to Iowa, later losers, _ ’ but he doesn’t. Instead, he slowly walks over towards Clint, looking uncertain. He holds his hands out. “Can I?”

“Why should I?” Clint mutters.

“I’m - I’m her dad, Clint,” Barney says, and Tony feels his heart sink as Clint nods jerkily and then passes Anna over to Barney. Barney cradles her gently, carefully, his eyes fixed on her. His scowl is gone and he’s looking at Anna like she’s something amazing, just like Clint does. 

“Where’ve you been?” Clint asks quietly. All the anger is gone from his voice and he instead sounds a little forlorn.

“Working,” Barney shrugs.

“Legal working?”

“Ask me no questions and I shall tell you no lies,” Barney says evasively, and then to Anna. “Hi. Hi, Anna. We’ve not met yet. I’m - I’m your dad. I’m Barney.”

_ Oh no, _ Tony thinks distantly.  _ This is not part of this plan. This route doesn’t work out for us. _ He turns to look at Natasha who just shakes her head.

Barney carries on gently rocking Anna, reaching out to take her hand and folding his fingers around hers. He’s a natural with her. He glances up at Clint and nudges him with his shoulder. “Heard you got married.”

“Uh, yeah?” Clint says, scratching the back of his head. “It wasn’t like a thing. It was just like a city hall-”

“I wasn’t expecting an invite,” Barney says. “Barnes, right? Here’s not here, is he?” 

“I’m sorry, are we just suddenly all going to be cool with this?” Sam interrupts loudly, looking pretty pissed off. “The criminal turns up playing happy families with the baby that we’ve been busting our asses to take care of?”

Barney’s conversational tone turns dark again in an instant. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“I know you’re a waste of space,” Sam says frankly, and Tony mentally cheers him on.

“And who told you all that?” Barney retorts. “Clint, I’m guessing?”

Sam folds his arms across his chest. “What of it?”

“So he told you I’m a two bit criminal, right?” Barney says. “Did he also tell you that I first got busted because I turned up to try and stop  _ him  _ robbing a convenience store? How about the fact I got out and joined the army, while he was still fucking around stealing from anyone he could?”

Clint’s face is slowly going pale. “They know what I used to be.”

“I bet you haven’t told them everything,” Barney says, eyes narrowing. “I bet you’ve spent so long convincing everyone that I’m the piece of shit that you’ve forgotten that everything I’ve done is entirely on you.”

“On me?!”

“Yeah on you,” Barney says. “Tell them about Davenport, if you haven’t already. Go on.”

Sam’s brow furrows. “Clint?”

“Why is this now all about me?” Clint bursts out, and it’s easy to see how unsettled he is. “I’m not the one who left the baby in the fucking lobby!”

“I had to send her somewhere safe,” Barney insists.

“Then why hang up on us when we tried to call?” Tony interjects, unable to help himself. “Why not talk to us about it?”

“Firstly because I was fucking freaking out, alright? And because of  _ this, _ ” Barney says. “Exactly how you’ve all reacted to me because of the shit Clint has told you. Yeah, I’m no angel but neither is he, and he’s got no right to take the goddamn moral high ground-”

“I got out!” Clint exclaims. “I’m not a criminal anymore-”

“Only because you got fucking lucky” Barney snaps. Anna’s face crumples and she starts to cry, turning her head both ways and then reaching out for Clint when she spots him. Barney tries to shush her but she isn’t having any of it, crying louder as Barney moves her away from Clint. Clint stands rooted to the spot, hands useless at his sides.

“You know what, maybe leaving her with you was a mistake,” Barney says to Clint. “You’re a fucking liar, Clint. You’re no better than me, even if you’re pretending.”

And Sam’s mouth is falling open in shocked protest, and Natasha is saying something to Barney, but all Tony can focus on is the way Clint seems to be crumbling in the wake of Barney’s words. His eyes are bright, too bright, and he’s looking away and down, even as Anna cries and continues to reach for him. 

“Are you-” Clint says, swallowing hard. “Are you going to take her?”

The arguing between the adults stops dead, leaving Anna's crying as the only sound. Her tiny face has gone all red and her mouth is wide open, fixed in distress. 

Barney looks from Anna to Clint, still trying to shush her. “Can we talk about it without the jury here?” 

“Not happening,” Sam says bluntly. 

“No, it’s okay,” Clint says, waving Sam down. He seems tired and defeated already. “Go, guys. Give us a minute?”

Tony doesn’t want to; he wants to stay and fight Clint’s corner, to make sure Barney can’t hurt him or twist anything he says. He wants to stay and listen to what Barney has got to say for himself. He wants to stay and find out what happens to Anna. 

But Clint is asking for privacy and he’s got to respect that. Well, he’s got to at least give the impression of respecting that at the very least. As such, he gives Nat a significant look and then takes the rest of the team down to the conference room. They pile in and crowd around the table; Tony immediately swipes his hands over the glowing black tabletop, deftly throwing up a security feed from the communal floor. To his despair, he sees Barney is still holding Anna. Clint is sitting on the sofa, leaning forwards with his elbows on his knees.

“No, no, no,” Tony says. “Don’t give in, Clint. Come on!”

“So you’re fully on board with keeping the baby?” Natasha says, slipping into a chair and watching the feed closely. “We are Avengers, remember. We’re not exactly the safest or most stable environment.”

Tony leans back, slightly insulted. “We’ve raised Arto okay!”

Sam makes a mildly skeptical noise. “How many times has the kid been kidnapped?”

“Successfully? Once!”

Natasha cocks her head. “That’s really not bad, considering. I thought it would be more.”

“See,” Tony says. “We’re doing fine.”

They all watch as Clint stands up, pacing around and clearly ranting, gesturing wildly at Barney and Anna. Tony taps the sound feed on just in time to hear Barney’s retort of, “yeah well you’re off every week and a half getting blown the fuck up! How is that any better than me?”

“You didn’t even come to see me when I got blown up!”

“You didn’t fucking tell me you’d been hurt! Stop pulling receipts on me not being there for you when you never once asked me to be there!” Barney bellows. Anna is full-on wailing now, the sound raw and jarring.

“Fuck you-”

“No, Clint, you shut up and listen to me for once,” Barney snaps, hand resting protectively on Anna’s back. “You didn’t even let me know that you’d nearly died! I found out from that fucking interview you did - I had to sit there and read about it like I didn’t even know you.”

“I didn’t think you cared.”

Barney just stares at him, like he's suddenly not even sure who he's talking to any more. “What even happened to us, Clint? We used to be everything to each other. We said we’d always have each others’ backs.”

“I don’t know. We fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Barney says shortly. “We did. Glad to see you’re not blaming it entirely on-”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, this isn’t about us!” Clint bursts out. “Oh my god, either fucking give her to me or take her if that’s what you’re gonna do, because I seriously can’t take any more of her crying, Barney,  _ please- _ ”

“She’s not yours,” Barney says. 

“Then why leave her with me?” Clint says, his voice cracking. “Why is my name on the birth certificate?”

“Because I was name dropping to impress a girl, alright?” Barney says. “Don’t look at me like that, I don’t care what you think.”

“Barney!” Clint steps towards then, reaching for Anna and looking desperate. “You didn’t want her, just give her back and go away-”

“She is not yours,” Barney repeats. 

“You didn’t want her!”

“I panicked, alright!” Barney says. “I told you that already! Jesus, some woman rings me up and says by the way you’re a father, here, have a kid, what did you expect me to do?”

“Deal with it!” Clint shouts. “You should have stopped thinking about your fucking self and stepped up to look after  _ your baby! _ ”

“Yeah, I should have done,” Barney says, and that abruptly takes the wind out of Clint’s sails. “I should have done, I know.”

“Oh no,” Tony murmurs, resting his elbows on the edge of the table and holding his head in his hands. “Clint, take the baby and run.”

Even over the feed, Clint’s chin visibly wobbles. “Let me look after her, Barney. I swear, I’ll do right by her.”

Barney’s expression goes pained. “Now I’ve seen her, I’m not sure if I can,” he admits.

Clint looks like he’s been punched. “Then you need to take her and go,” he says, and his devastation is palpable. “You need to go and never ever talk to me again.”

“Clint-”

“No, Barney. You don’t get to-” Clint breaks off, cutting himself off mid-sentence. “Seriously, you need to go before Bucky gets back. You think I’m unreasonable, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

Barney’s face goes hard. “Another reason to take her,” he says coolly. “You’re a good guy these days but your husband? The Winter Soldier? I know what he’s done. The whole world knows what he’s done. Not exactly the person you want kids around, right?”

“Shit,” Sam curses. Natasha is on her feet, already heading for the door. Tony doesn’t try and stop her. On the contrary: he prays she gets there before Clint can physically attack Barney because boy, he’s looking close to breaking point.

Maybe a small part of him hopes  _ she _ attacks Barney, because even though he's had a rough history with Bucky, there is a line. 

“You know nothing about Bucky,” Clint says, hands balling into fists. He’s literally shaking with anger. “Don’t even talk about him. You don’t get to judge someone on their past.”

Barney only has an inch on Clint, but he still manages to look down his nose at him. “Neither do you.”

Clint’s jaw clenches tight. “At least I’ve made an effort to do better than my past.”

Barney just shakes his head. “Maybe this is me doing the same,” he says, looking down at Anna. “Maybe she's the - I don't know. The reason to start again.”

“So you’re taking her.”

“Yeah,” Barney says, and the moment the word is out of his mouth, it seems to stiffen his resolve. “I’m sorry I dumped her on you, I shouldn’t have done that. You’re right. I should have just dealt with it and I didn’t. But - I’m her dad. I deserve the right to be better to her than our dad was to us, right?”

“Don’t look at me to back you up,” Clint says bitterly. “Get your ego stroked somewhere else. I’m never talking to you ever again.”

“You can’t make me feel bad about wanting to step up for my baby, Clint-”

“Fuck off,” Clint says, and his voice breaks. He abruptly turns away, heading for the stairs and vanishing out of sight. A few seconds later and the elevator doors slide open and Natasha steps out into the room, stalling as she sees that Clint is no longer there.

Tony stares down at the feed, feeling sick and hollow. “I can’t believe it.”

“I’ll go find Clint,” Sam says.

Tony nods, watches blankly as Natasha walks up to Barney and helps him pack a bag for Anna. He watches as Natasha curtly escorts him to the elevator and out of the building. He watches as Barney Barton leaves with Anna in his arms.

“Fuck,” he mutters, covering his face with his hands.

He sits there for a long time. Until, some twenty-six minutes later, Jarvis quietly speaks to him over the speakers.

“Sir, Captain Rogers and Agent Barnes have arrived home. They are just landing.”

Thirteen hours. Damn. Now he owes Sam twenty bucks. Tony blinks down at the table, feeling helpless and lost, and not because he’s lost the bet about how long it’d take the dynamic duo to return home. 

“Okay, J,” he says and wonders what the hell they’re going to do now. 

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An assembled team of awesome helped me with this chapter: [Bucky the Ducky](http://words-aremy-weapons.tumblr.com/), [azure-wing ](https://azure-wing.tumblr.com/) and [everyworldneedslove](https://everyworldneedslove.tumblr.com/). Huge thanks to those guys for keeping me going and cheerleading me into getting this story back on the road.

Tony is the one to break it to Steve and Bucky.

He’s there on the landing deck to meet them as they clamber out of the dual-system jet, drumming his fingers against his elbow and utterly unable to keep still. As usual, Steve's first off, looking to Tony for answers. Tony just shakes his head.

“Out the fucking way, Steve.” Still in the cockpit, Bucky's voice is muffled but it's still easy to hear how impatient he is. Steve obediently stops blocking the door and Bucky swings out, landing with a heavy-booted thump.

“Where are they?” he asks immediately, unclipping his Skorpion from his back and distractedly thrusting it towards Steve, other hand already busy unstrapping his knives from his thigh.

“It's,” Tony begins, wondering how people with tact usually have these conversations. “It's just Clint. Barney Barton arrived about half an hour ago and took the baby.”

Bucky just stares at him. He's gone very still; it's the same defensive freeze that Natasha sometimes responds to bad news with. It’s possibly even more unnerving on Bucky than it is Natasha. Only possibly though. He needs more data to be sure.

“Where's Clint?” Steve asks, voice low and serious. “Tony?”

“In his room, I don't know. He didn't take it so well.”

Bucky's metal fingers all spasm, like wanting to throttle something is a Pavlovian response to hearing that Clint is in distress.

“Barney just decided to take her?” Steve sounds appalled. “And you guys let him?”

“So not the right thing to say right now,” Tony replies, voice pitched at a warning. He’s feeling too raw and upset right now to deal with Steve going off on one. “Barnes, we haven't checked on Barton since. You're probably the only one who can get in without being shot at.”

Bucky blinks. He's got that weird pinched expression that he normally wears after a mission has gone wrong. Steve reaches for him, which Tony thinks is probably a bad move right now - he braces himself for violence and has the command to call the Mark twenty-two on the very tip of his tongue. Thankfully, as Steve's fingers brush Bucky's elbow, Bucky does not explode in a storm of cussing and stabby implements; he just exhales shakily and manages a nod.

“Hang on. Left something on the jet,” he says, and abruptly turns around and climbs back aboard.

Steve covers his eyes with his palm. Tony steps towards him but before he's even managed to take his hand there's a _clang_ , the horrible rending screech of metal on metal and then a human scream, pained and raw.

Tony immediately tries to run towards the jet. “No,” Steve says tiredly, reaching out and snagging Tony's shoulders to stop him mid-step.

“But he’s demolishing Judy!” Tony protests, even though no-one else but Sam appreciates his habit of naming the jets. “It's not her fault!”

“Let him do it,” Steve says, and then, “ _Fuck_. I should have left when-”

“Hey, no, no,” Tony says. Deciding to temporarily ignore the destruction happening not eight feet away, he reaches for Steve and sets his hands on the back of his neck, holding him in place. “Don't. It is not your fault. Even if you think it is, please stow it because we're going to have to be there for them. Clint and Bucky and Arto.”

As if proving Tony's point, another crash comes from inside the jet and the whole thing seems to sway an inch or so. Oh man, Tony thought that Bucky was out of his demolition man phase. The jet is never going to be the same.

“He's paying for it,” Tony says matter-of-factly. “Hey, you're home. Kiss me.”

Steve obliges, leaning in to gently press his mouth to Tony’s, soft and lingering. He tastes so familiar and Tony aches with it, so relieved and grateful to have him back. He curls his fingers into the straps of Steve’s uniform, breaking the kiss to press his forehead against Steve’s.

“Arto doesn’t know,” he says quietly. “I told him that you’d call him when you got home, and that I’d let him know if anything happened.”

“Damn,” Steve sighs. “Okay. Come on, let’s get it over with.”

“Band-aid approach,” Tony nods. “You know he’s going to flip out. We might have to go and pick him up.”

“I might go get him anyway, tell him face to face,” Steve says, and then lifts his head as Bucky emerges from the jet, eyes red-rimmed and jaw clenched so tightly it looks like he’s going to break teeth if he’s not careful. Shit, Bucky never cries in front of them. In front of Steve maybe, but to see him suspiciously watery-eyed makes Tony feel about a nine on the awkward scale.

“Going to find Clint,” Bucky says brusquely, and jerks his thumb at the jet, not meeting their eyes. “I’ll pay for that.”

Tony feels a pang of pity. “Don’t sweat it,” he says. “We’ve still got Elroy and Astro. Besides, I probably owe you several thousand dollars in babysitting money anyway. We’ll call it even.”

And Bucky doesn’t even argue or curse at him or call him an asshole, just nods jerkily and makes his way into the tower without looking back. Steve wants to follow him, it’s written all over his face, but Tony needs him more right now.

“Jarvis will keep an eye on him,” he says, tugging at the straps he’s still holding onto and making Steve sway towards him. “We’ve got our own problem to deal with.”

Steve nods, reaching up to rub at his forehead. “I’ll go get him.”

“Probably for the best,” Tony concedes. “He was very adamant earlier that the baby was staying. There’s a hundred things he could flip out over. Barney taking her, Clint giving her up, Bucky not being here to punch Barney in the mouth-”

Steve shakes his head. “I wish all we had to worry about was terrorists with access to unstable chemicals,” he sighs, and leans in to press a quick kiss to Tony’s mouth. “I’ll take the bike. Where’s Arto’s helmet?”

“In the garage,” Tony says. “Sure you don’t want the Audi?”

Steve shakes his head and then is gone. Tony stands there on the landing pad feeling lost and very close to helpless. He’s supposed to fix things, but what can he do here? He can’t bring Anna back through sheer force of will, even if he very much wants to. He could maybe try and tackle it by throwing money and lawyers at the situation, but he kind of thinks he should get Clint’s permission before trying that.

Leaving him with option three, which is doing exactly what he usually does when he’s out of his depth with people: ignore the people and deal with machinery instead. He turns and walks towards the jet, wincing as he sticks his head into it and surveys the damage. Damn, vibranium knuckles really do leave great imprints on titanium alloy, that’s for sure. “Well, you I can try and fix,” he says, patting the side of the jet and already creating a mental checklist of everything he’s going to need. “Sit still sweetheart, this will only hurt a little.”

 

* * *

 

Steve returns with Arto a few hours later. Steve looks like he’s bypassed tired and gone straight to physically and emotionally exhausted. Arto is red-eyed and blotchy and goes straight to his room and climbs into the bolt-hole without even saying hello to Tony, which is a kick right in the feels. Tony obviously deals with it by maybe being a bit of an asshole to Steve, and then hiding in the hangar to try and finish fixing the jet. He admits defeat at around two AM and heads back inside, covered in grease and oil.

He checks in on Arto first; thankfully Arto is asleep in his bed and not in the bolt-hole, even though he’s still fully dressed and only half under the covers. Tony leaves him be, trudging up to the penthouse to hopefully slide into bed beside Steve-

There’s a light on. Damn. He sighs and prepares for either an argument or grovelling, depending on how pissy Steve still is at him for being a dick earlier.

“Hey,” he says, edging into the bedroom and hovering in the doorway. “Am I sleeping on the couch?”

Steve doesn’t even look at him. “Your call,” he says from behind his book.

Tony groans, thumps his head against the doorframe. “No, please don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Steve asks, still hiding behind the pages of _Band of Brothers_. Jeez, Steve needs to stop reading war books all the time, it’s a little bit too maudlin for Tony’s tastes.

“Why are you even reading books about the war, you were there,” Tony says, and Steve pointedly ignores him. Right, Steve had asked him a question and has been sleeping with Tony for long enough - and has been married to him for long enough - to know when Tony’s trying to avoid answering a question by coming up with an irrelevant one of his own. Tony sighs, knowing he’s outmatched.

“Please don’t be all passive aggressive, please just be all out aggressive if you need to.”

That at least gets Steve to lower his book. He looks distinctly unimpressed. “Arto heard you call me an asshole.”

Tony grimaces. “I didn't mean it. He knows I didn't mean it.”

“You expecting Art to understand that you don’t mean it is not acceptable,” Steve says shortly. “He’s fifteen, Tony, and he’s not the most reasonable at the best of times.”

“Is he pissed at me too?”

“Yes.”

Tony groans, slumps a little further into the doorframe. “Why do Clint and Bucky even want to be parents, this shit is exhausting.”

“You are in the wrong here and you know it,” Steve says, and goes back to his book. “But I didn’t stay up this late just to tell you to fuck off. Get in the bed.”

Tony doesn’t need to be told twice. He strips off and crawls in beside Steve, deciding not to give a shit about the greasy marks he’s leaving all over the sheets. Steve doesn’t stop reading, but does lift up an arm so Tony can burrow into his side. Damn, Steve is like a furnace, as always.

“I miss the baby Barton,” Tony says, head resting on Steve’s shoulder. “She grew on me.”

“I know,” Steve says quietly. “You’re allowed to miss her too.”

Tony heaves out a sigh, squirming closer and throwing a leg over one of Steve’s. “The things Barney said to Clint today,” he says. “That’s a fucked up relationship.”

Steve folds the corner down on his book and sets it aside, sliding his arms around Tony and holding him close, dropping an absent-minded kiss to his forehead. “What did he say?”

“That Clint had no right to take the moral high ground,” Tony says. “I know Clint’s got a few shady years behind him-”

“Haven't we all.”

“You were basically the human equivalent of an angry jack russell, you were never shady,” Tony says dismissively. “Anyway, I get the impression that back in the day Barney was the one who tried to go on the straight and narrow, and it never worked out.”

“Clint did get on the straight and narrow though,” Steve says slowly.

“Yeah, but I don’t think Barney’s as bad as Clint has made out,” Tony says. “Not as simple, at the very least.”

“The man left a baby in the lobby.”

“Yeah, I know. And has been using a fake ID in Clint’s name for the past few years,” Tony says, drumming his fingers on Steve's chest. “In this instance, he is definitely at least ninety percent dick. Maybe eighty. People tend to freak out when they suddenly have to be parents, I mean look at how you were when Arto got here.”

Steve scowls. “Maybe the couch is the best place for you after all.”

“No way, not now I’m actually in the bed,” Tony says, making his point by grabbing hold of the nearest part of Steve he can, which just so happens to be one of his pecs. Steve looks even less impressed at that: he looks down at where Tony is gripping hold of his chest and then up at Tony with a perfectly raised eyebrow.

“Grabbing my tits is not going to get you back on my good side,” he says flatly and Tony lets out a loud, shocked laugh. He has to let go of Steve to cover his mouth with his hand, trying to muffle his laughter.

“Oh my god,” he manages to gasp. “You didn’t. Oh my god, I’m telling everyone you just made that joke, it’s taken twelve years for you to accept the joke-”

“No-one will ever believe you,” Steve says, rolling onto his side and burying his face in Tony’s neck. “I’ll deny every word.”

 

* * *

 

They’re woken early the next morning by a visitor. Arto doesn’t even bother to knock, just kicks his way into their bedroom and clambers onto the bed, flopping down in a tangle of blankets. Tony just rolls to the side and lets him muscle his way between them, already halfway back to sleep. He doesn’t want to have to get up and deal with a baby-Barton-less day. The thought is more than depressing.

“I thought you were falling out,” he hears Arto say, sounding annoyed.

“He’s apologized,” Steve murmurs back. “He was upset about Anna leaving, don’t worry about it.”

Arto is quiet for a moment. Then, “I’m not going to school.”

Tony lifts his head to look over his shoulder but Steve is already there, yawning widely. “Alright. You can have today-”

“Tomorrow’s swimming,” Arto says instantly.

“And then you go back on Thursday,” Steve continues as if he’s not heard Arto’s interruption. “Right, come on. If we’re awake we’re getting up, Tony’s sleeping.”

Tony decides to take advantage of Steve’s assumption, and buries his face back into his pillow as both Rogers the bigger and smaller clamber out of the bed. Arto accidentally kneels right on his ankle as he does but he just grunts and kicks him away, shoving his head under the pillow. Probably won’t bruise, even though Arto is ridiculously damn heavy these days and hasn't seemed to have noticed at all.

He gets up mid-afternoon, belatedly showers to get rid of the grease and muck from yesterday, and then finds Steve and Arto in the studio, both looking over Arto’s art portfolio and talking in low voices. Steve is looking thoughtful and Arto uncertain. Tony allows himself a few moments of just standing and watching them together; this whole mess with the baby Barton has reawakened every ounce of gratitude inside him and in that moment he’s so overwhelmed by having his family right there safe in front of him that he can hardly stand it.

The moment is broken not by Tony for once; Steve’s phone beeps and he pulls it out of his pocket, frowning. He shows it to Arto, who rears back, looking alarmed.

“Call him!”

Steve does as bid, holding the phone up to his ear. “You’re doing what?” is his opening line, which means it’s someone he knows well. Tony would bet on it being Bucky. Maybe Sam. Possibly Natasha, though Steve's usually more polite to her unless she's pissed him off.

“Where’s Clint?!” Arto hisses. Odds on it being Bucky shortened, then. Steve flaps a hand at Arto to shush him but Arto just grabs the hand and pulls, nearly yanking Steve off balance as he’s not ready for it.

“You’re taking Clint too? Alright, be safe,” Steve says, and hangs up. He pulls Arto back towards him, wrestling him into a gentle headlock. “He’s taking Clint with him, don’t look so worried-”

Arto throws up a hand, the other holding onto Steve’s forearm. “They can't just go-”

“They’re gonna do what they need to do,” Steve says, and then looks up and notices Tony standing there in the doorway. He smiles, and Tony can't help but smile back. “Hey.”

Arto cranes his neck up to look. “Tony! Bucky stole Steve’s bike!”

Tony pushes away from the doorframe. “What?”

“He’s not stolen it, he’s borrowed it,” Steve says, letting go of Arto. Arto promptly wraps his arms around Steve’s middle like he’s tackling him in a game of football, pushing against him with his shoulder. Steve is ready for it this time and takes a half step back so he’s braced against Arto’s best efforts. “Bucky’s taken Clint out. I think they needed to get away, so he’s taken the bike.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Oh, if he breaks it, I’ll kill him,” Steve says, grunting a little as Arto tries to shove him over. “Arto, what are you even doing?”

“I’m nearly as strong as you,” Arto pants.

Steve just laughs. “Yeah, sure,” he says, patting Arto on the back before leaning over and grabbing him around the middle with one arm, lifting him up and flipping him over. Abruptly upside-down, Arto lets out a yell and flails a little but then starts laughing, one hand grabbing hold of Steve’s jeans and his legs bending at the knee. He nearly kicks Steve in the ear in the process but Steve doesn’t seem to care at all.

“Okay, you’re still stronger,” Arto concedes.

“Glad we got that sorted,” Steve says mildly. “Right, if you need to redo that piece we’re going to have to go get more watercolours.”

“Watercolours?” Arto frowns, and then his mouth falls open. Tony can practically see the light bulb appearing above his head. “That’ll work! That’ll be better!”

“See, I’m not just the hired muscle,” Steve says, patting Arto’s belly with his free hand and then looking at Tony. “I’m taking this one to the store, then. You want to come?”

“No, I’m going to finish the jet and do some work,” Tony says. “Bring me good donuts though.”

“Sir, yes Sir,” Arto says and then they’re gone, Steve carrying Arto out of the room, leaning in to kiss Tony as they pass. Tony smiles faintly and then pushes him away, waiting until the noise has faded before going over to Arto’s still-open portfolio. His project this semester is all about home: there are gorgeous charcoal sketches of homes from all around the city - including the tower - but they’re not the focus of his project; the buildings are turning into mere backdrops for pictures of the people that Arto calls home. The best picture is easily the one of Arto and Clint together, even though it took his teacher weeks to persuade Arto to attempt a self portrait. Tony flips through a few pages, heart skipping as he spots Steve, then himself.

Sighing, he closes the portfolio, drumming his fingers against the cover. Home had included Anna Barton for a few short days, and now she was _gone._

Damn, he should have gone with Steve and Arto.

“Tony?”

He looks up and around to see Sam leaning against the doorway, looking morose. Tony shrugs and Sam seems to get it; he nods back and then wanders in, doing exactly what Tony did and opening up the portfolio.

“Kid got good,” he says, tapping his finger against a half-finished picture of Bucky. It’s all in shades of blue and it makes Bucky look pensive and calm.

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Though I know nothing about art. Pepper frequently tells me I know nothing about art. Between her and Steve, I’ve been banned from decorating anything.”

“I don’t know anything either,” Sam shrugs. “But this makes me smile, so I guess that’s what counts.”

“They’ve gone to get watercolours. I don’t know, I only know paint when it’s applied to titanium or vibranium alloy, I wouldn’t have paper in the house if it wasn’t for the artistic types. Hey, do you think we should move? Look, all these other homes look like houses or apartments and here we are living in-”

Sam closes the portfolio again. “Okay, one, you’re babbling. Two, look at the point Arto’s trying to make. You guys are his home. So no, we don’t need to move. What are you trying to do to us, can you imagine Steve’s face if you suggest moving?”

“He might like it,” Tony shrugs. “Though give me some credit, I would ask him before I decided to move.”

“Well that’s comforting.”

“We could though,” Tony says. “A new start.”

“Alright, I’ll bite. Where would we move? And why do we need - is this to do with the baby?”

“I’ve got places,” Tony shrugs, ignoring the question about the baby and cursing himself for being so hyper-verbal. “Malibu? That place has a pool, Arto would love it. Actually, so does the mansion-”

“Wait, you have a _mansion?_ ”

“Yeah, it’s upstate. It’s got a garden. I think there’s an apartment in Chicago, too.”

“Only you would lose track of how many houses you own,” Sam says. “I’m going to give you my advice here - no knee jerk reactions to the baby dilemma. No moving houses, no adding swimming pools to the tower, no buying islands. Just keep a lid on it for a few days, alright?”

“Not sure that’s possible,” Tony admits.

“Build a new suit or something,” Sam says. “Finish your damn MRI machines and I’ll volunteer as a test subject.”

“I’ve got to rebuild Judy anyway, Bucky broke her,” Tony sighs.

“There you go then, project,” Sam says, and then, “I’m gonna pack away all the baby stuff.”

The words are soft and gentle but they hit Tony right in the chest. It hurts. He, Clint and Bruce had worked their asses off to accommodate the baby Barton, and she’d been cuddly and loving and cute and _dammit_ , Tony misses her.

God, if he's feeling like this, how must Clint be feeling right now? The thought makes Tony feel oddly hollow and in that moment he catches himself thinking that he'd do pretty much anything to get Anna back.

“Stash it in a spare room,” he tells Sam. What he doesn't say is how he’s abruptly wondering if Anna really is gone for good, or if Barney will turn back around in twelve hours and bring her right back when he realises just how hard work she is. Clint has the Avengers - who are both proven heroes _and_ communal child-raisers - to back him up, who does Barney have?

Sam nods and then he’s gone. For a fleeting moment, Tony thinks about going to finish fixing Judy up but then decides to head to the workshop instead. He’s still thinking about Barney and how much better off Anna would be with the Avengers, and something - not quite an idea - is niggling at his brain.

“Jarvis,” he says softly, settling down at his computer. He leans back in his chair, twisting his wedding ring around absent-mindedly. “Get some clear shots of Barney Barton, the type that would be ideal for facial recognition. Then run it through all the footage we’ve got from the security feeds liked to Stark systems and see how often we can spot him.”

“In the interests of pretending you’ll listen to me at all, I remind you that you assured Senator Greene that you would not use the Stark security systems for any personal-”

“Well unless you tattle on me to Senator Greene, we’ll be fine,” Tony says impatiently. “If the government didn’t want snooping capabilities they would have shut down the satellite uplink. They just don’t want _me_ snooping.”

“Captain Rogers will also object.”

“Captain Rogers does not need to know,” Tony mutters. “This isn’t about him, this is about baby Barton. Now search. Last twelve months, what has elder Barton been up to?”

“Searching,” Jarvis says, sounding long suffering.

Tony is barely listening. He pulls open a browser on his monitor and opens up two holographic feeds as well. “Enable track-hider,” he says. “ _Without_ the silent judgement.”

“Well you object when I judge vocally, so which one will it be?” Jarvis says primly.

Tony throws his hands in the air. “Jesus, can't a man hack a police database without his AI getting all holier-than-thou? Oh damnit Bruce, now I’ve started with the church metaphors.” He scowls, fingers already tapping across keys, lightning quick. “I programmed you, why do you judge what I do fifty percent of the time?”

“Because I learn,” Jarvis says. “You clearly do not.”

“Wow. Rude. Well that's just unfair. You know what, let's have this argument later. First I'm going to find some dirt on Barney Barton and you're going to help we whether you like it or not.”

And Jarvis actually sighs, sounding way, _way_ too much like Steve. “As you wish.”

 

* * *

 

 

Tony is an hour in and neck deep in surveillance footage when he’s rudely interrupted by the Avengers alarm. His first thought is _‘Barney, Anna, disaster, shit’_ but then Jarvis throws up footage of something slightly more problematic than a pair of wayward Barton’s: smoke pouring ominously out of smashed windows at the top of a distressingly familiar building, one that is not too far away from the tower. Even as he watches, something appears at the windows, crawling out of the frame and directly down the side of the goddamn building.

“Jarvis, get me Sue!” Tony shouts as he throws out his hands, the Mark twenty-two assembling around him. The call connects just as the faceplate slams down, Sue’s picture flickering in the bottom right corner.

“Tony, we need backup!” Sue says, frantic. “Goddamn it, Reed!”

Tony is already over at the window, slamming his armoured hand to the panel that’ll open it . “What’s happening?! Talk to me, Storm.”

“There’s something happened in Reed’s workshop,” she says. “I don’t know, there was an explosion and now there’s robots everywhere, they look like shitty versions of you-”

“How very dare you,” Tony says, watching as the window finishes its smooth slide open. “Hold tight, we’re on the way.”

And with that he lunges from the window, taking off in a flare of repulsors. He feels the same rush of adrenaline as he always does, mixed with a determined sense of purpose. He’s got a job to do now. Iron Man mode engaged.

Well, maybe mostly engaged. Dad Stark mode isn’t far away. “Jarvis, call Steve.”

Steve picks up immediately. “We’re okay,” he says. “We’re at Barnes and Noble on fifth.”

“Absolutely not, that is too close to the mayhem,” Tony says, swooping around the side of a skyscraper and feeling a horrible curl of fear in his belly as he mentally calculates exactly how long it would take a robot to get from the Baxter building to Steve’s location. “Take the brat and move away from the explosion and robots.”

“Robots?” Steve says, sounding pained. In the background Tony can hear screaming and the faint distressed wail of sirens. “You need my help.”

“No, I need you to take Arto and get out of Manhattan,” Tony says. “I’m pulling the husband card, do what I say. Take him and go.”

He hangs up without another word. “Jarvis, track him,” he says curtly. “And whoa, what the ever-loving shit is going on?!”

Because now the Baxter building is in sight and Tony can see that robots are literally pouring from the top, smashing their way through windows and leaping out into the city. They don’t appear to be weaponised but they’re certainly not friendly-looking.

Jarvis pings several locations on his map. “It appears they are attacking civilians at street level.”

“Of course they are,” Tony says. “We’re gonna need backup for the backup, where the hell are the rest of the team?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, just pulls up outside one of the smashed windows to the Baxter Building. A robot spots him and pauses, mid-way out of the window, cocking its head quizzically at him. Damn, Sue was right, they do look distressingly like one of his suits, although a lot slimmer. It’s almost enough to give a guy a complex.

“So hey, do you come in peace?” Tony calls.

The robot rears back and then shrieks at him, the lower half of it’s face opening up into a terrifying maw of metal slivers. It’s disturbingly like something off of _Predator_ , and Tony can only hope there’s no robotic aliens anywhere as part of the package.

“Message received,” Tony says, and promptly blasts the robot right in its disgusting snappy jaws. It screams as it tumbles down the side of the Baxter Building, knocking another loose as it goes. “Easy enough,” Tony says, and swoops around to start picking more from the upper floor. He glances at the map in the corner of his HUD, narrowing his eyes at it. “Why has Steve not moved? Is he actually kidding?”

He doesn’t have time to work it out though, because there’s another deafening boom from the very top of the building, accompanied by an explosion of bright pink light that’s horribly familiar. He remembers it all too well, the swirl of pink light that had engulfed them as they’d been taken to a different dimension, to the world in which they’d found Arto.

It’s the goddamn portal chamber.

“Jarvis, is that-?!”

“It would appear that the portal chamber is malfunctioning.”

“I thought that thing was shut down years ago!” Tony yells, and curses as a veritable swarm of robots comes pouring out of the top of the building. “If I’m not allowed to play around with advanced security systems there’s no way that the government are letting him screw around with that!”

“Maybe this argument is best saved for later? I count four hundred and sixty-two hostiles and the number is rising.”

“Add yelling at Reed to my to-do list,” Tony says, zooming up and blasting four robots in quick succession. “Switch me to comms. Avengers! Who the hell is here, or are you all napping?!”

“On ground level,” Natasha’s voice replies immediately.

“Falcon inbound, twenty seconds.”

“Hulk on stand by.”

“Coulson at ground level.”

“Coulson?!” Tony exclaims. “Where the hell did you pop up from? You been hiding in dark corners again?”

“Always,” Phil says, sounding calm. Calm enough so that Tony is able to very clearly hear a familiar _clang_ echo over his comm.

He grits his teeth. “Tell me that Steve is not with you.”

“Steve is not with me,” Coulson says easily. “Stark, what’s the game plan?”

“Bruce, get the big guy to hold perimeter. Anything tries to walk away from this building, squash it. Natasha, Coulson, get civilians clear. Sam, pick them off before they get to the ground.”

Even as he says it, there’s a roar and a rush of heat that races past him, nearly knocking him out of the sky. Johnny storm plows straight into a crowd of robots, melting them to slag in an instant. He grabs one by the neck, yanking out out of the window and throwing it from the building. He turns to look at Tony, the panic evident on his face even through the flames. “The kids are in there!”

Tony doesn’t hesitate. He lunges forwards and smashes through a window, straight into the building. There are robots _everywhere_ , all shrieking and screaming and staggering around like big drunken robotic babies, and Tony wastes no time in wasting them.

“Jarvis, life signs, find me those kids!”

There’s a pause that lasts far too long. Then finally, “Lower West stairwell, thirteenth floor.”

“On it,” Tony says, and decides that the quickest way to them is back out of the window he came in, looping around the outside of the building and smashing back in through another on what he presumes is the fourteenth floor. He finds himself in an open plan office area, which is empty, though he’s been an Avenger long enough to know not to let his guard down.

“Baby Richardses!” he yells, heading towards the door. Above him, there’s the muffled sound of shrieking and the telltale clanging of metal on metal. He heads towards the stairs and gets around four steps before there’d a dull _whomp_ of sound and he finds himself thrown back across the room, smashing into a desk. He pushes himself back up, automatically raising a hand and biting back a curse as he nearly blows the head of Valeria Richards, who is scrambling up the stairs and looking horrified. “Tony!” she shouts. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it was you!”

“Was that you?!” Tony gapes. “Force-fields?”

“Don’t tell my dad,” Valeria pleads, caught in that wavering area between fear and anger, her eyes welling up even as she looks at him furiously. “Please don’t.”

 _Kids, ten out of ten would not recommend,_ Tony thinks. “So not an argument for right now,” he says. “Where’s your brother? I’m getting you out of here.”

And Valeria is nodding and running back towards the stairwell; Tony follows to find Franklin hunkered down with his hands over his ears. When he sees Tony the relief is palpable, and he literally flings himself at him, wrapping his arms around Tony’s neck.

“Buckle up,” Tony says, and then they’re gone, soaring back out of the window and away from the tower.

“Connect me back to Sue,” Tony says, and Jarvis does as bid. “Sue! I’ve got the kids, I’m taking them out of the way to Steve.”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Sue says, frantic. “Tony, thank you-”

“Thanks later, get the job done,” Tony says tersely, and swings around the corner. He was planning on landing at Steve’s last known location and getting Jarvis to track him down but he doesn’t even need to bother; outside of the shop that Steve had supposedly left some time ago is a very familiar figure, kicking robot ass while in civilian dress, and said familiar figure _does_ _not have their son with him._

“Steve!” Tony bellows, landing as gently as he can while carrying two teenagers and feeling angry enough to burst a blood vessel. “What the fuck do you think you are doing?!”

Steve glances his way, jaw set stubbornly as he smashes yet another robot in the face with his shield. “He’s safe,” he grunts, flinging the shield at another.

“How do you know that, you’re not with him!” Tony screams. “I am not fucking around, Steve-”

“Neither am I!” Steve yells back. “I can't just sit on my ass while-”

“Take the fucking teenagers and go before I decide to divorce your sorry ass!”

Steve visibly jerks back like Tony has swung for him, his mouth falling open in shock. Tony pushes Valeria and Franklin into motion and walks towards Steve, firing repulsors at stray robots as he does.

“Tony-”

“No,” Tony snaps. “Go.”

Steve stares at him and then nods jerkily. He holds out a hand and Valeria rushes to him, Franklin hot on her heels. Steve wraps an arm around their shoulders, shield covering them protectively as they hurry away, ducking into the store and out of sight. Tony wants to scream, wants to punch Steve right in his all-American jaw. The thought of Arto being alone during this mess - he can’t even process it, he’s that fucking angry.

He takes it out on the robots. He’s wiped out a good thirty of them before a cool voice distracts him, as calm as ever over the comms.

“Stark, it’s Coulson. Steve has come back for Arto, says he’s relieving me and I’m to support you.”

 _‘Good,’_ is Tony’s first thought, followed quickly by _‘oh shit,’_ because he’d just threatened Steve with divorce for leaving Arto unattended and of course he’d left him with Coulson, which was probably the safest place in the fucking city. _Shit._ Tony needs to stop shouting first then thinking later when he’s arguing with Steve.

“Stark?”

His reply is lost under the roar of an engine and a screaming of tyres; from out of nowhere Steve’s bike suddenly appears, sliding across the tarmac and plowing directly into a gaggle of robots. Clint is on the back and firing arrows quicker than Tony can process, and Bucky is driving and shooting at the same time. They’re both fully suited up and look like they mean business.

“Barnes and Barton have arrived,” Tony calls, watching as Clint jumps from the bike and literally destroys a robot with his bare hands, shoving a fist into the wiring around its neck and yanking it out, sending the robot collapsing to the floor. Tony finds himself grinding to a halt, watching as Clint takes out another two, three robots in the same manner, returning only to his bow when there are no more within arms’ reach. One robot manages to get the jump on him, leaping from the top of an overturned car and catching Clint hard in the face with a metal fist. Tony jolts in fear and shock but of course Bucky is already there, bowie knife in hand. He slashes at the robot in a single vicious motion, rending it into two feebly twitching halves.

Tony’s definitely caught between being nervous and impressed. Bucky looks like he’s in full Winter Soldier mode and Clint doesn’t look too far removed from it either: both are radiating murderous anger and Tony doesn’t think it’s entirely to do with the robots.

“Stark? Plan?”

Tony blinks himself back to the moment. “Barnes and Barton are on the ground and doing a marvelously efficient if not distressingly violent job,” he says. “Hulk keeps perimeter. Widow and Agent are to continue with civilian evac. Falcon - you and I return to the air. Sue, the Avengers are containing and we’re leaving it to you to sort out the portal.”

“Acknowledged,” Sue says. “Reed is up there, he’s working on it. Wait, if you’re all here, who has got the baby?”

Tony grits his teeth and prays that Clint nor Bucky are connected to a live comm. “Baby is safe,” he opts for saying, and ruthlessly pushes the thought away, turning back to the robots. “Now let’s kick some ass.”

 

* * *

 

 

It takes four hours for Reed to finally get the portal chamber to stop spewing out robots. Four hours of relentless, dirty fighting. Luckily, the robots aren’t too hard to tackle but the sheer volume of them means that the entire team is utterly exhausted by the time they’re done.

And Tony hasn’t heard from Steve since he told him to go away or be divorced.

He lands on the remnants of Madison and fifth; the entire intersection is full of craters and the shells of burnt out cars. The emergency services are already on scene, as are several bazillion reporters and TV crews. Great.

Tony takes a deep breath, leaning forwards with his hands braced on his knees. God, he’s sweating so much that he might just write the suit off as a biohazard. How can Arto stand to be so sweaty and gross all the time? “Everyone okay?” he asks, flipping up the faceplate to try and get at some cooler and cleaner air.

“Yes,” Natasha says, her voice doubling up over the comms and through the air as she limps towards him. “Are you?”

Tony is saved from answering by Sam landing next to him with a thud, wiping his brow with his forearm. “Oh man,” he groans. “Become an Avenger, he says. Do some good, he says, and here I am fighting predator robots in the middle of Manhattan. No, just no.”

“Yeah, you should have been smarter,” Tony says, wearily clapping him on the shoulder. “Where are Barnes and Barton?”

“I don’t know,” Natasha says, frowning slightly. “They went into the building about forty minutes ago. I did tell them not to, but they weren’t in the mood for listening.”

“They were both making their way through the lower levels of the Baxter building,” Coulson calls from behind them, walking up and brushing brick dust off of his shoulders. “And by that I mean they were shooting their way through. I hear they’re both currently a little tightly wound?”

“A little,” Tony mutters. From one hell to another: from invading robots to a team that’s pretty much emotionally _fucked._ Between Barnes and Barton’s heartbreak over Anna and the quietly looming trouble he senses is coming his way over what he’s said to Steve, he predicts they’re in for a rough few days.

Even as he’s dejectedly contemplating just how inappropriate the usual post-robot-defeating party would be, he hears the bellow of the Hulk from nearby and sighs. Clearly Barnes and Barton aren’t the only ones feeling tightly wound.

“Okay,” he says, knowing that they can’t put off dealing with it forever. “Someone calm Bruce down, let’s get tidied up.”


	6. Chapter 6

When they finally get back to the tower, Tony is almost knocked back off the landing pad by the blur of teenage super-soldier that flings itself at him the moment his armored feet are on the floor. He doesn’t even bother to tell Arto that he’s not supposed to be out there, just wraps him up in a very careful hug.

“What were those things?” Arto asks, hands patting at the arc reactor like he’s trying to reassure himself it’s still there. “They were gross, I was watching on the news. Where did they come from?”

“Where’s your dad?” Tony opts for asking, because the portal chamber is a bit of a tricky subject, seeing as it’s not one hundred percent legal. There is also the added complication that Arto came to their world via the portal chamber, and Tony is pretty sure that Arto neither remembers or knows that bit of his history.

Arto’s hands still and his face falls at that, his relief giving way to something more uncertain. “He’s in the gym,” he says. “He’s…”

“He’s stressed out because he wanted to get involved with the fighting,” Tony fills in for him, gently cupping Arto’s face with gauntleted hands. It’s technically true, though he’s going to leave out the part where he mentioned the D word.

Arto’s frown eases only marginally but he does nod. “Valeria and Franklin are in the lounge,” he says. “We’re hungry.”

“Okay then, you can either wait for me to get out of the suit and showered or go and ask Steve. Or you know, learn to cook something yourself?”

Arto thinks about it. “Can I just order take-out?”

Tony sighs. “Yes, you can. Order enough for everyone. You know the drill, post-mission pizza party and all that.”

Arto salutes him - wow, looking way too much like Steve when he does that - and vanishes again, his phone already in hand. Tony watches him go and then climbs out of his suit, deciding to face the music with his husband before taking his much-needed shower. If Steve’s in the gym right now it means he’s trying to deal with emotions by bench pressing them out, but at least that means he’s acknowledging the emotions. A Steve in denial about his feelings is way harder to deal with.

Just as Tony suspected, Steve is working out and working out hard. He’s on the rowing machine and his grey shirt is soaked with sweat. He looks a bit like Bucky did earlier, all clenched jaw and angry eyes. Part of Tony just wants to tell him to grow up and fuck off because he will _not_ be made to feel guilty about wanting to protect Arto.

“So shall I suit up again? Shall we brawl this one out?”

Steve stops at the sound of Tony’s voice but he doesn’t look at him. He leans forwards and wipes his forehead on his wrist, then climbs up off the padded seat, collecting his water bottle and a towel as he goes.

“Steve?”

Steve still doesn’t answer, doesn’t look at him. He just loops the towel around his neck and cracks the top off of his water bottle, his back half-turned.

Tony resists the urge to throw something at him. “ _Steve._ Don’t ignore me.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, voice forced even, “I’d feel better if we had this conversation with your lawyer present.”

And _right_ in the feels. “Oh come on,” Tony says. “I was freaking out, you know I-”

“I know you didn’t mean it?” Steve cuts across him, hard and angry. “You know what - first I was thinking, oh my god, what if Arto had heard you say that?” he says and he still won’t look at Tony. Tony’s stomach lurches unpleasantly because he’d not even thought about that, the possibility of Arto hearing that word being tossed around in anger.

“Steve-”

“But then I thought no, it’s not even about that,” Steve carries on. “What right have you got to throw _that_ at me? I know you were stressed about Arto – I was fucking stressed about Arto too. But after everything we’ve been through together, you think taking a cheap shot about divorcing me is okay?”

“No, I didn’t think anything, okay. You know me, I just react and I talk and I have no filter, especially when I’m stressed.”

“Well then you have to accept the consequences of not thinking about it,” Steve says, and he finally looks up, walking over towards Tony and the door. He stops right in front of him, still so obviously, furiously angry. “Don’t you _ever_ say that to me again unless you’ve got papers for me to sign and a pen in the other hand,” Steve says and then he’s gone, slamming the door on his way out, so hard that the entire glass panel cracks into a brilliant frosted spiderweb.

“Well, shit,” Tony says out loud. He feels like slamming doors himself, frustrated with himself and Steve and the whole fucking world right now. Mostly with Steve, though. He pulls out his phone, hits speed-dial and waits for the familiar click of the connecting call.

“You know,” he begins, not even giving Steve a chance to say anything, “if you’d told me where Arto was I wouldn’t have freaked out.”

“Yeah I probably should have!” Steve snaps back. “Maybe you should have complained about my shit communication skills instead of yelling about divorcing me. Maybe you should have just fucking trusted me.” He makes a noise like he’s so angry he’s forgotten how to articulate words. ”Just - fuck. Leave me alone, Tony.”

He hangs up and when Tony tries to call back, his phone has been switched off. Tony bites down on a curse and knocks his phone against his forehead. Being his usual self is not going to fly here; he’s going to have to go against all his instincts and back off until Steve has calmed down enough to listen. Shit. They’ve not fallen out this badly in years. Usually Tony can just dive straight in and start fixing the problem, and Steve usually allows it. Apparently not this time.

He jumps a little as his phone starts ringing in his hand. His heart leaps up into the base of his throat, however the caller turns out not to be Steve but Natasha.

“What,” Tony says flatly, answering it.

“We’re all on the way back. Sue is coming to pick up the kids and Bucky and Clint are here too, please get all of the baby stuff out of the tower before we get back. You’ve got ten minutes.”

“We’ve already done it,” Tony replies moodily. “The tower is officially a baby and joy free zone. In fact the tower is possibly hell on earth right now.”

“Steve didn’t react too well to you threatening divorce?” Natasha says coolly. “How are you surprised by that?”

“I didn’t threaten him!”

“Tony, we were there, we all heard you.”

“Well I didn’t mean it.”

Natasha sighs like even _she’s_ disappointed. “Well even if you didn’t, you said it and you’ve got to suffer the consequences. Maybe stop thinking about how you didn’t mean it and apologise properly? And be thankful that Bucky wasn’t connected to a live comm when you said it,” she adds, and then she hangs up on him.

 _Double shit,_ Tony thinks. Okay, so he can’t force Steve to see his point of view right now, so maybe he can start on calming himself down so he can see Steve’s. Then maybe when Steve finally gets over himself they’ll be able to talk like real, adult human beings.

“Okay but he’s paying for the door,” Tony says to no-one, and then gives up and goes off to finally shower.

 

* * *

 

Team dinner feels just plain wrong from the get-go. For a start, Steve and Clint are both absent. That’s enough to make everyone miserable without the forlorn sight of Steve’s ham and pineapple pizza sitting boxed up and untouched in the middle of the table instead of having been inhaled in thirty seconds flat. Weirdly, Bucky is still there even though Clint isn’t. He’s looking tired and pissed off and speaking in grunts and monosyllables, which isn't doing much to lighten the mood either.

Aside from the obvious empty spaces, everyone is exhausted and quiet, and Arto had asked about where Anna’s things were and promptly hid himself inside his sweater when Tony had told him that they'd been packed away. Well, inside a sweater that Tony actually thinks belongs to Bucky, which explains how baggy it is, as well as the frayed left cuff.

Natasha sits closer to Sam’s side than she ever has before which Tony takes as an indication as to just how unsettled she is. No-one comments on it because no-one is stupid, but Tony does catch Bruce’s eye and make a _‘look at them Sam is the bravest man on the planet’_ face which Bruce ignores, the traitor. Tony lets him off, only because he looks like he’s about to fall asleep face-down in a plate of deep-pan.

So. What do they usually talk about at post-mission dinner, anyway?

“Did the Richardses get home alright?” Tony asks after ten minutes of silence.

“Yes,” Natasha says, and then more silence, save for shuffling of bodies and clinking of plates and cups.

“Oh god, you’re killing me here,” Tony mutters, and then raises his voice. “Arto, get out of that goddamn sweater, someone take the hawaiian monstrosity to Steve and can we please just get a grip?”

Bucky stands up so violently that his chair topples over backwards. “Fuck you,” he snarls, pointing his metal finger at Tony. “Can you for once in your life just not be an insensitive asshole?”

Tony isn’t remotely cowed. In fact, he’s rather relieved that the unbearable silent-tension is gone. “Why aren’t you with Clint?”

Bucky’s mouth falls open in disbelief and he throws his hands up. “I repeat! Stop being an insensitive asshole!”

“Bucky, cool it,” Sam says tiredly as Arto retreats further into the sweater, hunching over so his forehead is nearly touching his plate. “Tony’s just trying to help, in his own tactless way. Come on, sit back down.”

Remarkably, Bucky does. After a couple of seconds of processing time, he turns and picks up his chair up and slumps back down on it, resting his elbow on the table and leaning his forehead on his fist. “If I sit with Clint for any longer, I’ll strangle him,” he finally admits and whoa, Bucky sharing feelings to people that aren't Clint or Steve? Wow.

Arto pops his head back out of the neck-hole of the sweater like an indignant turtle. “Bucky!”

“Metaphorically strangle,” Bucky amends, not meeting anyone’s gaze. “He keeps saying that Barney was right, that he’s not good enough for Anna.”

“What?!”

“That’s bullshit!”

“Of course he is!”

“I assume you’ve told him that that’s utter shit?” Tony says.

“Of course I did,” Bucky says. “Asshole turned his hearing aids off.”

“He’ll come around,” Natasha says. “It’ll take him a while, but he’ll work it out.”

Bucky sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know, I know,” he says, dejected. “He’s just hard work right now. Not that I blame him, but for my own sanity I’m taking a break.” He looks up, halfheartedly pulls a pizza-box towards him and yanks out a slice of pepperoni before swinging around and turning slightly belligerent eyes on Tony. “So, fair’s fair, why aren't you with Steve?”

Tony winces. “Yeah, maybe I deserved that,” he says. “Steve is stressed out because we disagreed slightly about him not joining in with the fighting earlier.”

Sam frowns. “He did join in.”

“Hence the disagreement,” Tony says lightly, very aware of Arto’s laser-focus gaze on him. “Steve left Arto with Coulson, I panicked because I didn’t know where Arto was, I shouted.”

“You said he was just stressed out about not fighting!” Arto says. “I was with Phil, I was fine!”

“I didn’t know that, Steve didn’t tell me where you were!”

“With Phil!”

Tony turns to glare at Bucky. “Are you happy now?”

Bucky shrugs, licking his metal fingertips. “That’ll teach you to be a prick in the middle of dinner.”

“Okay, maybe be draw a line under this and act like adults,” Bruce says firmly. “We’re all tired, we’re all upset, we all miss the baby and we need each other right now.”

“Point taken,” Bucky says, and jams the last of his pizza in his mouth. He swallows and then sighs again, shoulders slumping as he gestures vaguely at Tony in what could either be a threat or a peace offering. “I’ll take Captain Butthurt his pizza if you take one for Barton the Miserable?”

Peace offering it is, then. Tony'll take it.

“I’ll come,” Arto says immediately.

“Nu-uh,” Tony says gently. “Let me and Bucky go first, yeah? There’s feelings to shout about first. We’ll come and find you the moment that’s out the way, I promise.”

Arto doesn’t look entirely happy but he does huff and go back to picking pepperoni off of the top of his pizza, glaring sullenly

“Aaaand, break,” Sam says, lifting a hand for Bucky to high five as he collects Steve’s pizza and departs. He offers a fist-bump to Tony as well, and Natasha gently touches his back as he turns away so he figures that maybe they’re not as pissed at him as they could be. It’s more reassuring than he anticipated.

Quite predictably, Tony finds Clint on the range. There’s a target already bristling with arrows at the far end, moving slowly back and forth across the wall. It’s no challenge for Clint at all – there’s no showing off, no backflips or fancy tricks. It’s just him and his bow, repeatedly firing shot after shot with perfect precision. It’s probably like Tony going on building binges to deal with emotional turmoil, or Steve working out excessively; Clint just does like Bucky and shoots things.

Tony beeps himself in through both coded lock and Arto-proof fingerprint scanner and walks over to stand behind Clint. He peers around and spots the flashes of purple behind Clint’s ears which means that Clint can probably hear him but is ignoring him.

He gives him a moment, standing with an arm folded across his chest, fingers tapping absently at the arc reactor. “Barton.”

Clint neither pauses nor acknowledges him.

“Barton.”

“Sorry, can’t hear you,” Clint says, picking up another arrow and twirling it like a baton before nocking and shooting.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Okay, I’m just going to come out and say it, I’m here for emotional support and talking.”

“I don’t want emotional support,” Clint says, shoulders visibly going tense. He lifts another arrow, nocks it. “So I’m just going to come out and say it. Go away, Tony.”

“I’m not sure my fragile ego can handle anyone else telling me to go away,” says Tony.

Clint pauses. “Anyone else?”

“Yeah. Steve and I...aren’t talking right now.”

And at that, Clint lowers his bow. He turns to frown at Tony and then spots he’s come with sustenance. He beelines for Tony and the pizza, taking it from him and sitting cross legged on the floor. He flips open the box and gestures for Tony to join him, which he does.

“So, middle of a fight, right?” Tony says, lowering himself to the floor and wincing as his bruises protest. “I’m suited up, Steve has Arto. I tell Steve to take Arto and leave Manhattan and what does he do? Well, from my point of view it looks like he leaves Arto unattended and goes to fight robots.”

“I’m guessing that’s not what happened?” Clint asks through a mouthful of cheese.

“No, what actually happened was that Steve left Arto with Phil,” Tony admits. “I didn’t know that - well, he didn’t tell me that so I freaked the fuck out and maybe shouted at him.”

“Big deal, you guys yell at each other all the time.”

“I maybe told him that if he didn’t take the kids and get out then I’d divorce him.”

“Oh wow, you idiot.”

“Yeah, I know, hence the fall out,” Tony says, breathing out deeply and rubbing at the edge of his goatee. “I’m not about to say I’m completely to blame here, because fuck him for not telling me he was going to leave Arto with Phil...but I think I fucked up throwing the divorce word around.”

“You think?” Clint says. “So now he’s dealing with feeling upset by working out or being a stroppy bastard?”

“Of course, what else would he be doing?”

“Crying all over Bucky?”

“Well Bucky has just gone to him, so maybe he’s made it to that stage,” Tony says hollowly. “Shit. Look at us. What a fucking day.”

Clint doesn’t reply. Tony glances over and sees that Clint has just given up on the pizza and is staring into middle distance.

“Clint?”

“Don’t want to talk about it,” Clint says, shaking himself out of his stupor. “I’m done talking about it.”

“You know Barney was talking absolute shit, right? You’re-”

“Tony, don’t-”

“No, Clint, I mean it. He shouldn’t have-”

“You were listening to what he said, weren’t you?”

“Of course.”

Clint drops his pizza crust back into the box. “Barney was right,” he says heavily. “I - I’ve been hanging around with you guys so long that I forget that I’ve not exactly got a clean sheet myself.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re unfit to look after Anna!”

“Well if it doesn’t mean I’m unfit then Barney’s record can’t be held against him-”

“Clint, the difference is that you have turned it around.”

“Like Barney tried to do before I screwed him over in Davenport,” Clint says heavily. “Look, I don’t even know why we’re talking about it. He took her, she’s gone, it’s over.”

“If you don’t want to give in, you don’t have to. We’re the Avengers, Clint. We have enough resources to work this out.”

“I don’t think I want to know what you’re thinking of,” Clint says, looking pained. “She was never mine, Tony. We can’t pretend she was. I don’t deserve to get that lucky.”

 _Bullshit,_ Tony thinks fiercely, but Clint is retreating into his self-defense mode, the one where he doesn’t listen and just hides from everything, so arguing with him isn’t going to work. Despite knowing that, Tony isn't going to leave Clint sitting here feeling like he's not good enough, because that's not fair.

“You know that there’s paperwork saying that you’re the person who gets Arto if anything happens to me and Steve, right?”

Shocked, Clint looks up at Tony, eyes way too bright. “What?”

“You knew that, come on.”

“I didn’t know there was paperwork!”

“It’s not official without paperwork,” Tony says. “Point is, that me and Steve are perhaps the most overprotective parents on the east coast-”

“You’re not that bad anymore.”

“Thanks. We’re the most overprotective parents on the east coast and we would trust you without a second thought. I don’t care if you were a scumbag when you were younger - hell, I wouldn’t care if you’d spent the nineties shacked up with Victor Von Doom and had a supervillain of the year award in the back of your closet. For the last fifteen years you have been an Avenger and you’ve been my friend and your brother can take his opinions and stick them up his ass.”

Clint presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, chin trembling slightly. “Much feels,” he croaks out, clearing his throat to try and dispel the waver in his voice. “Very no.”

“Now you sound like you,” Tony says. “Come on, keep going until you’re back at cocky and belligerent, I miss that guy.”

Clint makes a sound that could be a laugh. “I was good with her, right?” he says out of nowhere, still covering his eyes. His voice is small. Vulnerable. “I didn’t know squat about babies but I think I was good with her.”

Tony’s mouth hitches in a soft, sad, smile. He’s ready to make a joke about Anna neither being drowned nor electrocuted while in Clint’s care, but it doesn’t feel right. Instead, he pulls out his phone and flips to the picture of Clint and Anna that he’d covertly taken. She’s lying on her back and beaming like Clint is the best thing ever, and he’s mid-blowing a raspberry on her foot, his own mouth curved in a matching grin. Tony taps Clint’s hands with the phone until Clint takes his hands away; he looks irritated but then Tony just holds up the picture.

His eyes go wide and his chin trembles again. “Oh,” he says dumbly, and he takes the phone. “When - fuck you, Tony. This isn’t fair.”

“I know,” Tony says. “I’m sorry, Clint.”

Clint stares at the picture some more and then he appears to give up; he thrusts the phone back at Tony and covers his eyes with his palm again, shoulders slumping and head hanging low. It’s like he wants to curl up to protect himself against it all, hide himself away from the hurt.

“Send me the picture,” he says thickly.

Tony nods just as he hears a tapping on the glass of the range; he looks up to see Arto is there, hand raised to knock and perfectly agonized expression in place. Tony is up in an instant, walking over to unlock the door and let him in.

“Go, he needs cheering up,” Tony says softly, and Arto nods and rushes over to Clint’s side. He’s like an insistent puppy, pushing at Clint’s side to try and make him look up, finally giving up and using his strength to muscle his way into Clint’s lap. Clint lets him, ending up with Arto curled against him, holding him tightly against his chest and hiding his face in his shoulder. His shoulders shake and Arto gently pats at Clint’s arm with a hand.

Tony hovers for a moment but Arto shoots him a thumbs up and a reassuring if not slightly wobbly smile. Tony nods and signs _‘call me for help’_ through the glass before turning away. His instinct is to go to find Steve but seeing as they’re not talking right now, he has to think of a plan B.

It doesn’t take him long to decide to suit back up and fly back out of the tower, heading over to the streets surrounding the Baxter Building. He doesn’t bother checking in with the Fantastic Four - not really in the mood for talking about the battle or Anna or Steve or _any_ of it  - and spends the next few hours helping out the emergency crews that are starting to try and clean up. He stays happily unconnected to any Avengers comms, though does text Arto on his phone every now and again. According to Arto, Clint has moved on from shooting to back-to-backing Die Hard films, which is probably progress.

Tony hauls robot carcasses and wrecked cars and hunks of sidewalk around until he’s had enough, then wastes another hour talking to fans on the ground. He signs a few autographs, poses for a few selfies. One fan buys him a milkshake and he accepts, even though it’s getting late enough that he’s considering a real drink. Besides, milkshake is Steve’s thing rather than his and it makes Tony feel all twisted up and angry all over again.

Steve doesn’t call, doesn’t text.

It’s a call from Arto that finally propels Tony back to the tower. Arto says he’s fine and doesn’t need Tony to come back, but his voice is wavering slightly so Tony calls bullshit. He’s going to have to talk to Arto again about clear communication - he’s falling back into that passive aggressive _‘saying things I don’t mean when I’m upset’_ habit and it took them long enough to get him out of that.

When he lands, the light has all but faded and the tower is quiet. The communal areas are empty and clean, which means that the others really are at a loose end right now. Immediate and efficient cleaning usually only happens under duress or when everyone is especially stressed out.

“Where is everyone, Jarvis?”

“Agents Barnes and Barton are in their rooms, Doctor Banner is asleep in his lab, Arto is asleep in his room, Agents Wilson and Romanov are in the gym and Captain Rogers is in the meeting room.”

“The meeting room?” Tony frowns, stepping out of his suit and heading straight to the fridge to get a bottle of water. “Why is he in there?”

“He was filling in paperwork and is now sleeping on the couch.”

And _ouch_. Tony drains his water and crumples the plastic in his fist, aching for a whiskey chaser or three. He heads for the coffee maker instead because the thought of going to bed without Steve right now makes his chest feel like the arc reactor has caved in.

“Tell him he’s an asshole,” he says shortly, pulling two mugs from the cupboard and setting them down with more force than necessary.

“With all due respect, Sir, I’d rather not,” Jarvis says.

Tony fumes all the way through both mugs of coffee, cursing Steve and Jarvis and everyone remotely connected to the pair of them. He refills and heads down to his workshop, throwing himself into his chair and fuming some more when he nearly spills coffee all over his workbench.

“What is this?” He asks irritably, gesturing at the images on his screens. “What-”

He cuts himself off as he remembers exactly what he was doing prior to the call to Assemble, staring at the picture of Barney Barton that sits in front of him.

“Jarvis, when was this taken?” he asks, brain connecting dates and pieces of information without him really being aware of it. He swipes the picture away and finds more, a neat virtual stack of every time Barney Barton has passed near a Stark system in the past year.

Despite his initial reluctance, Jarvis has managed to find several images of Barney and also has pulled up a dozen or so files from various departments around the country. It’s child’s play for Tony to start linking them together; with tech and his brain on side, it only takes a matter of hours for him to achieve what god-knows-how-many police officers couldn’t.

He forgets all about his fight with Steve. He forgets about Arto’s passive-aggressive insistence that he was alright. He forgets about everything but the mission in front of him.

It’s coming up to six AM when Tony manages to find exactly what he’s after; a way to nail Barney Barton to the fucking wall. He sits there, staring at one single frame from a Stark-security system which proves that Barney was not exactly where an alibi claimed he was. Within half an hour, Tony has a file made up of enough documents and files to possibly pin six separate bank robberies across the country on a single gang of criminals.

A gang including Barney Barton.

“Wow,” Tony breathes out, slumping back in his chair and staring at his screens. “So with this I can probably have Barney arrested and the entire Idaho police department arrested for incompetence.”

Jarvis finally decides to speak to him, after hours of silence. “And have yourself hauled in front of the World Security Council and Capitol Hill.”

“Well, there is that,” Tony concedes. “What do I do?”

“Do you want an answer from a moral or legal standpoint?”

Well, legal standpoint is handwavey enough. The moral standpoint - well, there’s one place Tony would normally turn for advice with that. “I want Steve to come and tell me what to do, the asshole,” Tony groans, rubbing at his face. “But no, we have to have fucked up and fallen out right now.”

“Maybe your best bet is to have this conversation with Captain Rogers.”

“What, say I know we’ve fallen out but I need your help on this right now?”

“Maybe, Sir.”

Tony pulls a face, reaches for his keyboard, pauses.

“You think it’s that easy?”

“I don’t think. I make inferences and conclusions based on code and observed variables.”

“That’s thinking, don’t get smart with me.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I thought being smart was my primary directive?”

“Jarvis!”

“Yes, I think you should ask Captain Rogers for help. The worst he can do is say no.”

“Alright, worth a shot,” Tony shrugs. “On your hardware be it. He’s awake, right? Connect me over the speakers, he won’t pick up his phone.”

There’s a pause and then Jarvis quietly says, “connected.”

And Tony doesn’t know exactly where Steve is or what he’s doing, but he just decides to go for it. “Steve, I know we’ve fallen out but I need your help with something right now.”

There’s a long, long silence. Tony winces, closes one eye and braces himself-

“Alright, where are you?”

His exhale of relief is probably audible. “Workshop. Computer.”

“On my way.”

Tony waves his hand to get Jarvis to cut the call. “On the Steve-Anger index, what are we looking at?”

“Down from an eight, possibly a four.”

“Four, I can deal with four,” Tony says. “Right, package those files up. Standard encryption. Maybe remove any prints, you know the drill.”

He watches Jarvis work, tapping his fingers restlessly against the arc reactor until he hears the beep and swoosh of the workshop door. His stomach goes tight but he turns to face Steve anyway, hiding a grimace as he takes in Steve’s tired and pinched expression.

“Have you been to bed at all?” Steve asks shortly.

“I’ve been digging,” Tony answers, utterly ignoring the question. “Look, I found out how to have Barney Barton arrested.”

Steve’s brow creases and he walks over to peer at the screens, a hand on the back of Tony’s chair. His eyes flicker back and forth at speed, taking it all in. After a few tense moments, he leans back and rubs at his face. “This is probably seriously illegal, Tony.”

“Hence why I’m talking to you about our options here instead of just sending it to the powers that be.”

Steve doesn’t appear mollified, though he isn’t shouting which is a bonus. “It would be easier to have these conversations before you do the things, you know.”

“Yeah, probably,” Tony admits. “Though I’m not sure I’ll ever have that sort of impulse control.”

“I know,” Steve sighs, and folds his arms over his chest. “Thank you for at least reining it in and talking to someone about this before just going ahead and doing it.”

“Uh, you’re welcome?” Tony says, and pauses. This feels good, here. He and Steve are communicating and no-one is yelling so maybe everything is okay? “So, are we still fighting about the whole divorce comment?”

“Yes,” Steve says firmly. “I am _not_ talking about it.”

Well, shit. Tony feels exasperation roll back over him. “Steve, honey-”

“I said I’m not talking about it yet.”

“Yet?”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “No chance you’ll just back off?”

Tony frowns. “Do you even know me?”

Steve drops his hands like he’s too tired to fight. “Fair point,” he says. “Now, back to this. What have you got?”

“Enough information to have Barney arrested, which might mean that Clint gets Anna back.”

Steve takes a moment to process. It’s on the tip of Tony’s tongue to make a comment about it but he still remembers that argument from over ten years ago, where Steve had bluntly told him he would not be rushed into processing things as quickly as Tony. _‘Back off,’_ had been his choice of words back then, too.

“One, this is probably illegal,” Steve finally says, like Tony didn’t know that already. “Two, that’s a _might_ get Anna back, it’s not a definite and knowing our luck it’d end with her being thrown into foster care and there’s no telling how that’ll turn out. And three, have we any right to do this to Barney? You were the one saying that this thing between him and Clint isn’t black and white.”

Tony feels oddly hollow. “You don’t think I should do anything with this.”

Steve grimaces. “I want to. I want to suit up and go and snatch that baby back right now and give her to Clint and Bucky,” he admits. “But...I don’t think we can, here. I know you hate hearing it, but I don’t think we can meddle in this one.”

Tony groans, leaning over his workbench until his forehead hits the surface with a thud. “I hate hearing that.”

“I know,” Steve says gently, and then Tony feels a very familiar hand settle on his back between his shoulder blades. He goes tense and then relaxes as Steve’s fingers slowly drag down his spine. He opens his eyes, blinks at the tabletop.

“I don’t ever want to divorce you,” he says before he can get ahold of his mouth. “Not ever, I don’t know why I said it, it was such a stupid thing to say.”

“Yeah, it was,” Steve agrees. He sounds stilted, like it’s effort to get the words out. “I - I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Like, where had it come from, had you been thinking about it already and it just slipped out this time-”

Tony is on his feet straight away. “No,” he says urgently, reaching for Steve, slipping his hands onto his neck. “No way.”

“I know I’m difficult,” Steve says. He won’t meet Tony’s eyes. “I know I'm hard to be with, probably even harder to be married to-”

“Steve. In no way, shape or form do I want to ever be without you,” Tony insists. “Look at me, you tragic meatball. Jeez, I never expect you to be insecure and then-”

“How is my insecurity to blame for this?” Steve cuts across him. “You were the one who threatened to divorce me.”

“I would never,” Tony says. “I’m sorry.”

And Steve is nodding and leaning in to hesitantly press a kiss to Tony’s mouth, and Tony would happily repulsor himself in the face for being the cause of that hesitation, of that insecurity. He slides his arms around Steve’s waist and holds him tightly, hoping that Steve understands what he’s trying to say.

“You need to lock those files down,” Steve says quietly. “Then you need to go to bed. I’ll take Arto swimming. Later, we’ll talk to Clint about what you’ve found.”

“Talk to Clint?”

“Yes,” Steve says firmly. “This is not either of our decision to make, really. But don’t tell Clint that we already have something on Barney, we’ll ask-”

“-ask him if he wants me to try and find something,” Tony finishes, and Steve nods. “Yeah, I already told him I could, but then I showed him a photo of the baby and he cried so I don’t think he even thought seriously about it.”

Steve nods, his cheek pressing against Tony’s hair. He heaves out a sigh and they’re pressed so tightly together that Tony feels the way his whole body lifts and falls. Tony closes his eyes and just breathes him in, trying to tell himself that Steve’s right about the whole incriminating-evidence thing, that this is the way they’ve got to handle it.

His thoughts are disturbed by Steve’s soft murmur again. “Was he good with her?”

Tony knows who he’s talking about. “The best,” he admits. “He...he was great.”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and shows Steve the photo. Steve’s mouth twists and dammit, _this_ is why Tony wants to get the baby Barton back, because everyone is wearing that sad look on their faces like they’re accepting their heartbreak and that’s not fair. And that’s even without considering that they could give Anna everything she needed, they could provide a damn good childhood for her. From how it stands at the moment, Barney is going to have to do some serious and fast turning around of his life to provide anything near that quality for the baby.

Steve sighs. “Thought he would be,” he says, and pushes the phone away. “Bucky’s struggling. Hiding it, but struggling.”

“Wow, that doesn’t sound like Bucky at all,” Tony says and Steve laughs softly. Tony revels in the sound, lets the relief of being back on even footing with Steve comfort him as much as it can. He rests his head on Steve’s shoulder, staring absent-mindedly at the blue wash of his computer screens.

“Are we okay?”

Steve’s arms tighten around him, just enough for him to notice. “Yeah, we’re fine.”

Tony can already feel his eyes sliding shut, as if having heard that his brain and body are finally letting themselves relax, heading swiftly towards sleep. He could easily fall asleep against Steve’s shoulder but Steve is pushing him back and making him stand on his own two feet, the unreasonable bastard.

“Hey, no, get to a bed before you fall asleep, I’ve got to take Arto, we’re running late already.”

“Okay, okay,” Tony yawns, letting go of Steve and stepping back. Steve leans in and quickly kisses him and then he’s gone, leaving Tony alone in the workshop.

“Jarvis,” he says slowly, fighting another growing yawn.

“Yes, Sir?”

He stares at the screens for a moment, just thinking. It would be so easy. So, so easy. But Steve said no, he should probably trust Steve.

Unless Steve is wrong in this case. It’s not a common occurrence, but it probably happens more often that most of the world are aware. And Steve didn’t exactly deal with Arto in the best way when _he_ arrived, and he’s not even met the baby Barton so doesn’t really get it, and the longer they wait-

“Sir?”

Tony blinks, makes himself stop thinking. “Package those files and keep them safe. I might need them,” he says and then leaves the workshop and heads to bed.   
  



	7. Chapter 7

Tony wakes up mid afternoon feeling achy, tired and pissed off. He knows pulling all-nighters isn’t as easy for him these days as it was when he was younger and he resents the fact; he needs to invent some Stark super-serum or something so he can stay young and fresh forever. 

With no Stark-Serum at hand, he opts for heading towards sustenance and lots of caffeine. He should really just get a Keurig put in the bedroom, though he thinks Steve would probably object on the grounds of health or something. Though post-fatherhood Steve is certainly not as highly strung as he was before so maybe he’d be up for it. Tony can just imagine having to wrestle an Arto-tired Steve for the first cup every morning.  

There’s no competition for the coffee maker on the communal floor though, just a wannabe-supersoldier sprawled out on the couch with a deaf archer asleep and drooling on his chest. Bucky cranes his neck around as Tony comes in and lifts his metal hand in a vague wave.

“He’s not got his hearing aids in, don’t worry ‘bout keeping quiet.”

“Noted,” Tony grunts, padding towards the kitchen. “Where is everyone?”

“Bruce has gone to the Baxter Building to help with some data,” Bucky tells him. “Sam and Nat are out for lunch and Steve went swimming with Arto.”

“Bruce is a traitor,” Tony mutters, jabbing at the coffee machine and vowing to rip it apart again and make it even faster. “Man, I feel like shit.”

“You and Steve made up yet?”

“Yeah we-” Tony begins and then falters. “You know about that?”

“Sure,” Bucky says easily. “Don’t look so scared, I’m not going to say anything. I think Steve is big enough to take care of himself, and lord knows I’d probably threaten to divorce him once a week if I were married to him.”

Tony sighs. “No you wouldn’t.” 

“Guess we’ll never know,” Bucky shrugs, waggling metal fingers in what is probably meant to be a mysterious way. “Got my own marriage to keep on track, I’m not wasting energy thinking about hypothetically being married to Steve, that shit is exhausting.”

Tony’s not sure what to say to that. “Is that an alarm bell?”

“No,” Bucky says lazily, stretching out his arm along the back of the couch and glancing down at Clint. “No, I’m sticking with this dumbass even if he is being a miserable, self-pitying dumbass.”

“Wow, really taking advantage of the deaf thing there, Terminator.”

“Nah, I’ve said this to his face as well,” Bucky says. “Make me a coffee?”

“Of course you have,” Tony says. He obliges on the coffee, pouring two cups and taking one over to Bucky. As Tony gets closer he notices the deep shadows under Bucky's eyes; he knew they were all tired because of this whole mess but up close Bucky is really showing the exhaustion.

“Thanks,” Bucky says, fighting a yawn. “Now, sit your ass down, I need to yell at you.”

“What? I thought you just said you weren’t going to say anything!”

“Not about Steve, about the way Clint turned up in pieces yesterday after you sent him the picture of him and the baby.”

Oh, that. “I’m not sorry,” Tony says, tapping his fingers restlessly against the handle of his black and red, spider-adorned mug. “It - he was asking if he was good for her and he was so miserable I just wanted to - I don’t know. Show him how happy she was with him. Maybe in hindsight it was a dick move? I didn’t intend for it to be a dick move.”

Bucky’s eyes are slightly narrowed, like he’s weighing up just how much bodily harm to inflict. Maybe Tony should call a suit, just in case. 

“Alright,” Bucky finally says. “I’ll take that. It’s a cute photo.”

It’s Tony’s turn to narrow his eyes at Bucky, even as Bucky looks away. He seems so easy-going and casually flippant about it all, but Steve had said he was struggling? Man, he must have all his feelings on severe lockdown because whilst he looks tired, he doesn't look like he's in distress.

“Steve said you were struggling too.”

“Me? Nah.”

“I’m calling bullshit.”

“Call what you like,” Bucky says. “No offence, but I could be an inch away from heartbreak or not give a shit and you’ll not be able to tell.” 

“Steve would be able to tell. I’ll just ask Steve then shall I?”

Bucky barks out a laugh. “Yeah, you do that,” he says, and then pauses. “We are friends you know, Tony. I just don’t want to talk about it.”

And Tony wasn’t expecting for Bucky just to come out and say that they’re friends, and it makes him feel oddly privileged. Oh, how times have changed. Though along with that there is a sense of awkwardness, the same he gets whenever anyone says something sincere and nice to him. To cover it, he takes a large swig of too-hot coffee and changes the subject.

“What are you going to do with yourself today?”

“Be a cushion for Clint?” Bucky shrugs, apparently willing to have the subject changed. “What about you?”

Tony sips at his coffee, mind wandering to the files on his computer.  _ ‘Sending illegally obtained documents to the police despite Steve telling me not to,’ _ he thinks, but manages not to say it out loud. “I have no idea,” he says. “I’ve got a backlog of SI work and I need to call Pepper and Rhodey and I should probably look at that paper that Parker left for me to check and I’m probably not going to do any of that and go to watch Arto swim instead.”

“He’ll like that,” Bucky says through another jaw-cracking yawn. “He’s a quick little bastard though, like a seal or some shit. Have you seen him lately?”

“Not for a while,” Tony concedes, feeling a stab of guilt even though he spends ridiculous amounts of time indulging Arto’s other hobbies, the ones he’s more in tune with. He'll take wrenches and circuit boards over water and paint any day. “Alright, I’m going, have fun.”

Bucky lazily salutes him and Tony leaves just as he’s trying to reach the television remote with his foot and without disturbing Clint. Tony leaves him to it - honestly, the Winter Soldier should have some decent problem solving skills, a wayward television remote should not really constitute a challenge.

He debates taking the Audi for around three seconds and then decides just to take the suit and fly. Twelve minutes later and he’s in the ass-end of Brooklyn and scaring the crap out of the staff at the pool centre by landing right outside the doors with no warning whatsoever. With apologies made and the usual but-I-don’t-carry-ID-seriously-you-know-who-I-am argument had, he leaves the suit safely in the back and lets himself into the pool area.

It’s not the best pool centre in the area - honestly, every time Tony steps foot in the place he wants to a) rip out their antiquated computer systems and replace them with something which means people can actually book online, b) fix the rattling air conditioning units and c) employ a few dozen extra cleaners for the place - but Arto loves it and in it’s in Steve’s old stomping grounds so Tony tolerates the slightly grubby decor and the awful acoustics. On the plus side, it is Olympic sized, and they do let him hire out the entire thing for five hours every Wednesday so he can’t complain too much. At Steve’s insistence, they’d started off just putting Arto in regular swimming classes but after wobbly cell-phone footage of him swimming had appeared on the internet, Steve had quickly come around to the benefits of private sessions. Besides, all the rest of the kids were both awed and a little put-out at Arto swimming twice as fast as the rest of them.

Baby Barton would have loved swimming. She’d certainly liked the bath enough. 

He pushes through the double doors and instantly hears the voice of Arto’s swimming coach echoing off of the tiles. Joan - a tiny lady in her fifties - means business and doesn’t ever let up on Arto even though he’s probably twice as good as any other swimmer she’s coached. It’s like she saw him swim that first day and just went _‘eh, could be better.’_ Arto adores her and Tony is certainly pretty fond of her too.

To his surprise, he spots that Steve is actually in the pool too. He’s floating at the end closest to the doors, elbow resting on the side and body twisted around as he watches Arto listen to Joan’s instruction and then dive neatly in. 

“Hey,” Tony calls and Steve immediately turns to face him, smiling as Tony walks closer and holding onto the edge with just his fingertips, propping his chin on them. Tony has to mentally shake himself a little because Steve is gorgeous on the best of days and that is just about doubled when he’s mostly naked and wet. 

“I thought this was Arto’s swimming lesson, not yours.”

“Joan’s giving me pointers too,” Steve quips as Tony crouches down at the edge of the water, balancing on the balls of his feet. “No, he’s training up his lung capacity and it was freaking me out somewhat. I feel better if I’m in the water with him.”

“Whoa, whoa that crazy thing where he stays underwater for like twenty minutes? She’s making him do that for longer?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, long-suffering. “We’re up to thirty-one minutes if he’s static.”

“Okay, right, please ask them to stop practising that while I’m here,” Tony says, unease crawling down his spine. He rubs unconsciously at the arc reactor. “Nevermind you, I think I’ll freak out watching that.”

Luckily, Arto doesn’t spend thirty-one minutes underwater. Tony watches his rippling outline glide neatly the length of the pool and then he pops up next to Steve, shaking water out of his eyes and holding onto Steve’s shoulders and clamping his knees into Steve's ribs like he’s after an underwater piggy back. 

“Five minute break, Rogers!” Joan shouts and Arto lifts his hand in a thumbs up without turning around. 

“Hey, Short-Round,” Tony says, wanting to run his fingers through Arto's wet hair and make it stick up, just like he used to do to him when he was small. 

“What’re you doing here?” Arto asks, which doesn’t make Tony feel great. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Came to see my favourite Rogerses,” Tony shrugs. 

Arto rests his cheek against Steve’s wet shoulderblade. “Is Anna back yet?”

“No.”

Arto makes an aggrieved noise and slides off of Steve and under the water. Tony and Steve both watch him go, even as he settles at the bottom of the pool in an oddly serene, cross-legged pose, a stream of bubbles breaking the surface. He still manages to fully convey ‘sulking teenager’ though, crossing his arms across his chest and hunching over so they can’t see his face. 

“Well, that’s one way to avoid talking to me,” Tony says, “Get him up here, Steve, he’s scaring me.”

Steve obliges, pushing away from the side and neatly ducking under the water. He comes back up with his arm wrapped around Arto’s chest, under his arms. Arto is predictably protesting and trying to wrest free.

“Steve, get off!”

“Tony doesn’t like the underwater thing,” Steve says firmly. “Not while he’s here.”

Arto stops flailing around at that and then looks up at Tony. It takes him a moment but then it all seems to fall into place. “Sorry,” he says, voice small. He visibly hesitates and then holds out a hand for Tony to take.

Tony takes it immediately and it hits him like a hammer, a Mjolnir of force reminding him just how much he loves this kid. He grips Arto’s fingers tightly and tries to smile at him but he feels just how wobbly it comes out. There’s an odd lump in his throat and he tries to clear it, but now both Steve and Arto are wearing matching worried expressions.

“Dad?”

“Tony?”

“I’m okay,” Tony manages. “Just the whole baby Barton thing screwed me up, I think. Oh, and I love you both like stupid, stupid amounts.”

Steve reaches for him, placing a damp hand on his knee. For once, Arto doesn’t roll his eyes or fake-gag or call him gross. “We love you,” Arto says fiercely. “Just because Clint and Bucky didn’t get to keep Anna doesn’t mean we have to feel bad because we’re together.”

“Oh hell, when did you get all wise and eloquent?” Tony says, trying to make light of it. 

“He’s a smart kid, takes after his dad,” Steve says, and Arto grins. 

“Yeah, I’m half-Stark, I’m smart.”

“The smartest,” Tony says. “Now go swim. Become the world’s best freediver. Please don’t drown.”

“Never,” Arto says. “Besides, Steve’s here.”

He lets go of Tony’s hands, brings his feet up to press into the small of Steve’s back and literally uses him as a board to push off against, throwing himself backwards and twisting around in a bizarre dolphin-type leap, vanishing back under the water and away. 

“No, that is not a valid argument,” Tony shouts after Arto even though he's underwater and probably won't be able to hear him. “Have you seen Steve's record with swimming?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Oh ha, ha."

“How many times have you nearly drowned?”

“I don’t think me answering that will help your anxiety,” Steve says. “You want me to call Clint, get him to come be lifeguard?”

“He’s currently passed out asleep on Bucky,” Tony says. “And I know his preferred method of lifeguarding involves grappling hooks, so no.”

“Is he okay?”

“Not according to Bucky,” Tony says, and he pauses as he feels his phone vibrate in his jacket pocket. He pulls it out, shows Steve the screen. “Speak of the devil,” he says, opening the text from Bucky. “He said we were friends earlier, it creeped me out.”

“You _are_ friends,” Steve says, exasperated. 

Tony doesn’t respond, too busy focussing on the text on his phone.

_ ‘Can you do me a favour and let me have the recording of Barney and Clint’s conversation the other day please I promise not to kill anyone after watching it.’ _

“Okay, Bucky wants me to let him have the security footage of Clint and Barney's argument,” Tony says slowly. “He says he promises not to kill Barney.”

_‘Why?’_ he texts back. _‘It will 10/10 make you want to murder.’_

“That’s just going to wind him up,” Steve frowns, he turns around to watch Arto, pushing away from the side to tread water, his arms moving in neat, efficient circles. 

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Tony says.

_ ‘Clint still believes Barney’s bullshit I need to know what the bullshit was to be able to counter-argue the bullshit’ _

“Whatever, he’ll be fine,” Tony says, and fires off a quick message to Jarvis, telling him to give Bucky the requested footage. “Maybe he will murder Barney and then Clint will get custody.”

Steve gives him an exasperated look. “I thought we agreed that we weren’t going to resort to anything illegal?”

“We said no using illegal security footage, we didn’t say murder was off the table.”

“Murder is off the table,” Steve says. “Just to clarify.”

“Okay, I better text Bucky and let him know you just added that rule.”

Steve laughs softly. “He knows,” he says, watching as Tony puts his phone away and stands up. “Are you staying to watch the water baby some more?”

“He is not a baby. He’s one hundred and forty pounds of stroppy adolescent, which is worse.”

“You reckon?”

“What, that he’s one forty or that he’s worse?”

Steve laughs at that. “I know he’s getting heavy,” he says. “I mean - you feel we missed out? I mean, we never saw him as a baby.”

“He was enough of a handful at six,” Tony snorts. “Look, I took to the baby-Barton more than I thought I would but it does not mean I’m broody or think we got a raw deal not having Arto from a baby. I mean, if he’d been with us from a baby then he probably wouldn’t have more attachment issues than I have suits, but then we would have had to deal with a baby.”

“Why do you do that?” Steve asks, cocking his head curiously. “Call her baby-Barton?”

Tony shrugs. It hadn’t really noticed he was doing it. “I don’t know. Ask my therapist. Probably distancing myself somehow. I’m good at that.”

“Not as good as you used to be,” Steve says. “Besides, Bruce isn’t actually your therapist you know.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t get paid for listening to me whine,” Tony says. “Alright, safe swimming. See you at home.”

Steve nods and cranes his neck up towards Tony, expectant. Tony rolls his eyes but obliges, crouching back down and setting a hand on Steve’s shoulder so he can lean in and kiss him. “Later, loser,” he says, and kisses him once more before he goes.

 

* * *

When he gets home, Bucky and Clint have vanished and their spot has been taken by someone decidedly less Avengery: Peter Parker. He’s eating Doritos and watching TV and jumps to attention the moment Tony steps out of the lift, still suited up but sans helmet.

“Mister Stark! Jarvis let me in, I forgot Arto was swimming-”

“Stop calling me Mister Stark,” Tony says, waving him off. “I’m not that old, damnit.”

“Well,” Peter begins and hastily stops himself. “Uh, shall I make coffee? Can I make you a coffee? It’s your house but you look tired, so I can make coffee?”

“Coffe would be great, Parker,” Tony says and collapses into one of the reinforced lounge chairs. “And a bagel. Cream cheese.”

He’s pretty sure Peter is muttering “you can handle a bagel, just a bagel,” to himself but doesn’t bother to say anything. He should probably get out of the suit, but he’s still feeling tired and pissy and the whole underwater-thing is still lurking in the back of his brain so he decides to stay as he is. It’s not a difficult impulse to understand - it’s just like Steve keeping the shield close by when he’s stressed, or Bucky’s terrible habit of having weapons within grabbing distance. Come to think of it, it’s like Natasha keeping wire in her pockets or Clint having his bow with him when he’s nervous or Thor keeping Mjolnir in hand if he’s not completely relaxed. They all do it, so everyone can shut up about him staying in his suit. 

He doesn’t realise he’s fallen asleep untill there’s a tentative tapping on his forehead; he flails and almost punches Peter right in the stomach. Thankfully, Peter’s lightning reflexes are still in order and he manages to jump backwards out of range and without spilling any caffeine to boot.

“Whoa it’s me, it’s just me, it’s Peter Parker!”

Slumping back against the cushions of the lounger, Tony rubs at the arc reactor and tries to will his heartbeat to go back to normal. “I could have repulsored you! Do you not know how dangerous it is to make me jump?”

Peter just grins. “Less dangerous than making Bucky jump, that’s for sure.”

Tony sighs, reaching for the mug and plate that Peter is holding. “Sure, I’m Mister Stark but he’s a hundred and six but still gets  _ Bucky _ .”

“Not to his face,” Peter says, sounding scandalised at the very thought. “He scares me.”

“He’s a pussycat. You seen him, anyway? He and Clint were down here when I left.”

Peter flops back onto the couch. “Yeah, he was leaving as I came in. I said hello but he didn’t seem in the mood for chatting. I mean, he completely ignored me so yeah I don’t think he was up for chatting.”

“What, he left?” Tony frowns. “Is Clint still here?”

“I don’t know, I’m only visiting,” Peter shrugs. “What time will Arto be back? Is Steve with him? Can I go and get those circuit boards out of your lab?”

“An hour, yes and yes,” Tony says. “Go, don’t touch the thing on my bench,”

“Yes Mister Tony,” Peter says, leaping over the back of the couch and running towards the stairs, almost knocking over Clint, Natasha and Sam as they meet in the doorway.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” Sam calls, holding his hands aloft in alarm. Tony can distantly hear Peter shouting apologies back up the stairs. Sam just shakes his head and wanders in, taking Peter’s spot and reaching for the remote. Natasha has a tablet in hand and is frowning down at is as she slips into the other lounger. Clint just slouches over to the fridge, looking as tired and pissed off as Tony felt earlier.   

Tony decides not to go there with Clint. His bad mood is easy enough to work out. Instead, he turns to Natasha.  “Why the frowny face?”

“Why the suit?” she asks without missing a beat and without taking her frown away from the tablet. “SHIELD. Want me to go to New Jersey.”

“Let it burn,” Tony says automatically.

Sam laughs. “You tell Bucky and Steve and they’ll probably burn it down on purpose.”

Tony grins back at him. Steve and Bucky’s typical New York attitude really can be massively entertaining. Well, most of the time.  “Is that where Bucky’s gone? To wreak havoc on New Jersey?”

Clint leans back out of the fridge, back bowing in a frankly alarming display of flexibility. “What?”

“Parker said Bucky went out.”

“He went out?” Clint repeats, looking confused. “He said he was going to the range.”

“Jarvis, is Bucky in the building?” Natasha asks sharply.

“No, he left around forty-two minutes ago.”

All heads turn to look at Clint, who straightens up and backs out of the fridge. “Why are you looking at me?! I don’t know where he is!”

“You always know where he is,” Sam points out, twisting around and laying an arm out on the couch, shrugging like it’s obvious.

“What he said,” Tony agrees. 

“Well I clearly fucking don’t!” Clint snaps. “Has he gone to find Steve and Arto?”

“You have trackers on each other, right?”

“Emergency trackers, I’m not activating that because he’s decided to fuck off and go wandering,” Clint says. “He’s probably gone for a ride to get away from me for a bit, fuck knows he wanted to earlier.”

“Yes but even when he’s pissed at you he tells you he’s pissed and that he wants to get away from you,” Natasha says, putting the tablet down. “Clint, call him.”

“No, he’s mad at me, I’m not calling him.”

“Oh for-” Sam says, and pulls his own phone out. He calls Bucky’s cell and in Tony’s opinion takes way too long to find Bucky’s number, like has the man never heard of speed dial or voice recognition? Honestly. Sam lifts his phone to his ear but even as he does, there comes a loud ringing from underneath the goddamn couch.

“He’s left his cell,” Clint says blankly. He suddenly looks like he’s hit a mental brick wall, eyes open and mouth slightly open. “Why has he left his cell? He never leaves his cell.”

Tony retrieves the phone from under the couch. It’s Bucky’s alright, with a thumb shaped dent in the metal casing and a photo of him and Clint on their wedding day - both in jeans and t-shirts and eating hotdogs outside City Hall, but on their wedding day nonetheless - as the background. 

“Parker,” Tony mutters. “Parker said he was on the way out and said he didn’t want to talk.” 

“I didn’t think he was that mad at me,” Clint says blankly, still staring in shock at the phone. “He wouldn’t go off grid, not right now.”

“Don’t worry,” Natasha says, reaching for his hand. “There’ll be an explanation.”

“But - but he said he wouldn’t go even though I was being-” Clint swallows hard. 

“He said something similar to me too,” Tony says, trying his best at being reassuring and probably coming off as way too dismissive. Damn, he’s _trying_. “Sure you don’t want to activate those trackers?”

“No,” Clint says, adamant. He shakes his head like a dog shaking off water. “He’ll - he hasn’t left me, he hasn’t been kidnapped, he’s just - I don’t know. Something’s either freaked him out or pissed him off-”

“Oh,  _ shit. _ ”

Everyone turns to look at Tony, who has just put two and two together and come out with  _ I gave Bucky the security footage of Clint and Barney’s argument. _

“Okay, in my defense,” he begins, to an audience of steadily rising eyebrows. “He said he wouldn’t get pissed off and murder anyone-”

“What did you do?!” Clint yells, brandishing his hands at nothing in particular.

“He wanted the footage from the conversation between you and Barney and I let him have it, but he said he would be able to handle it-”

“Oh my god, Tony,” Sam groans, covering his face with his palms.

“Steve knows I did it,” Tony says, like that somehow gets him off the hook.

“So fucking what!” Clint yells. “Christ, not only has he seen Barney having a go at me but Barney calls him out too, you idiot! He’s not going to take that lying down!”

And Tony remembers far too easily. The moment Clint says it, the memory is there, crystal clear. He can remember the nasty look on Barney’s face, the way he’d spoken.

_ ‘ _ _ You’re a good guy these days but your husband? The Winter Soldier? I know what he’s done. The whole world knows what he’s done. Not exactly the person you want kids around, right?’ _

“Bucky won’t go out and prove him right,” Natasha says, her face carefully impassive. It’s like she’s having to expend a lot of effort being calm right now. “He’s not that stupid, he won't do anything to put Anna at risk or to jeopardise himself.”

“He won’t care about what Barney said about him,” Sam says “But he won’t be happy that Barney bullied Clint into giving up the baby-”

“He did not-” Clint starts hotly and then blows out a breath. “Someone - I don’t fucking know, someone call Steve.”

“We don’t need to call Steve,” Natasha says. “We need to look at our options here.”

“Our option is call Steve,” Clint says. “Jesus, I’ve lost my fucking baby and husband in the space of god knows how many days and now you’re all making everything worse, will someone please call Steve!”

“On it,” Tony says because frankly he thinks Clint is right. He is not cut out for this emotional game of chess that seems to be going on. “I strongly suggest you use your codependent trackers, Barton.”

“I think Tony’s right,” Sams says seriously and wow, first time for everything. “You know he’s beat up over this whole baby thing and hearing Barney’s piece is going to have tipped him over the edge.”

Tony quickly dials through to Steve, gesturing at Sam as he does. “What he said,” he says. “I think we need to contain the Terminator as soon as - hey Steve, darling, how are you?”

“Terminator?” Steve answers, sounding confused. “What?”

“We need you here,” Tony says without any preamble. “You know we said that maybe Bucky could handle listening to the Barton show and gave him the footage?”

“I’m on the way,” Steve says without hesitation, and then the call cuts out.

Tony stares at his phone, irritated. “Why does he do that? Hangs up without details? He doesn’t even know what Bucky has done yet!”

“He doesn’t need details, he’s guided by patriotism,” Sam says and normally Tony would find that hilarious but right now he’s both worried about Clint and Bucky and also feeling a tad guilty about handing over that footage to Bucky without thinking it through more. 

“Clint, find where Bucky is before I ask Tony to very illegally highjack Stark security systems to find him,” Natasha says, and Clint curses under his breath and then crouches down next to the couch. Tony is about to ask what the hell he’s doing but then Clint reaches under to retrieve his battered old macbook, twisting around to set it on the coffee table.

“Please tell me you are not running a munitions-grade weapons tracking program through a macbook,” Tony despairs. “Oh my god, I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Course I’m not,” Clint says vaguely, opening up the macbook and wiping his hand over the screen before frowning and lifting the hem of his shirt up to scrub at it instead. Tony makes an aggrieved noise, because it’s still technology, even if it is a traitorous piece of shit mac. “Jarvis says it’s secure.”

“I’m going to drop it out of the window,” Tony informs him.

“No you’re - whoa,” Clint leans in to the computer, eyes going wide. “The  _ bastard _ .”

Natasha is there in an instant, leaning over his shoulder. Tony and Sam crowd around too; Clint tilts the screen back and through the multitude of smears and smudgy fingerprints, Tony can see the tracking program with an alert window open over the top of it. 

_ ‘Dear Husband - gone wandering. Will be safe, will be back soon.’ _

“So the asshole can leave you a message on an encrypted system but can’t take his cell with him?” Sam says, clearly unimpressed.

“Means he wants to be left alone to do whatever he’s doing,” Clint says, exhaling heavily and slumping back against the front of the couch. “Oh god damn it, Buck.”

“Can you two please just communicate like normal people?” Tony demands. “What is this?”

“I just hope whatever he’s doing doesn’t involve weapons,” Natasha says. “You honestly think he won’t go after Barney? I mean, you brush off what Barney says and does so often it’s routine for you, but that will be the first time Bucky has ever seen Barney being...”

“An asshole?” Tony suggests.

“A bully?” Sam suggests.

“Less than pleasant,” Natasha goes with. “And you know how upset he is about Anna.”

Clint groans, tipping his head right back to stare at the ceiling, swallowing hard. “We should have taken Barney down when we had the chance,” he says, voice thick. “Now Bucky’s going to go murder him and get himself in trouble, again.”

Tony has to keep his expression very firmly under control at that, because he literally had a way to take Barney out of the equation without having to get Bucky or anyone else involved, and they’d decided not to go ahead with it. Jeez, it’s been like one stupid decision after another for him today.

“Maybe it won’t come to murder?” Tony ventures, and Natasha and Sam just give him a  _ look.  _ “Maybe it won’t come down to too much murder?”

They both turn away from him to talk to Clint, and Tony can only stand there and sigh, getting his phone out to fire off a quick text.

_ “Please hurry, i’m way out of my depth and i’m making things worse.” _

The reply comes back within seconds. 

_ “Hang in there. On the way.” _

 

* * *

If Tony thought the tower felt like hell the day before, the next day is even worse. It’s dinnertime and the tower should be full of voices and chattering and bickering; there’d be a film or some godawful reality show on the TV that people would love and hate in equal measure; someone - Bruce, it would be Bruce -  might be trying to cook and getting stressed out at the others trying to help; there’d probably be some sort of inappropriate weapons cache on the counter and everyone would be happy and it would feel good. Like home.

Not tonight.

Bruce has made dinner, silently and without talking to anyone else. No-one seems that interested - except Steve and Arto, who as usual deal with feelings by eating everything they can get their hands on - and are listlessly picking at their food.

The television is off and the room feels too quiet and heavy. Arto and Steve are crammed into the loveseat together, both drawing on the same sketchpad that’s resting on Steve’s knees. Natasha, Clint and Sam are sat at the island counter, all with bowed heads and morose expressions. Natasha is reading a book that’s all in Russian but she’s not flicked to a new page in way too long; Sam is tapping away at his phone and Clint is just staring at his dinner like he’s contemplating drowning himself in curry. 

Tony finds himself sitting between Omari and Peter like he's some sort of Avenger chaperone. Peter is reading a physics textbook that Tony is pretty sure college level, and Omari is slowly and meticulously folding a piece of paper torn from his own standard 10th grade history textbook into an elaborate origami creature. Tony did suspect an eagle of some sort but now he’s not so sure.

“So,” he whispers, not entirely willing to draw attention to himself seeing as the current atmosphere in the room is like a nine on the awkward scale. “Why are you two even here?”

“To spend time with Arto,” Peter frowns, turning the textbook upside-down and peering at a diagram.

Tony looks from Peter to where Arto is clinging to Steve, then back. “Sure.”

“Is this diagram wrong?” Peter frowns, thrusting the textbook over towards Tony. “It is, right?”  

Tony glances at it. “Yes.”

“Knew it,” Peter says, and tosses the textbook aside. With that no longer distracting him, he drums his fingers against his knee and then starts looking around the room. He grimaces and then leans in to whisper to Tony. “Tough crowd.”

“Shut up, Peter,” Arto calls moodily. “Let people have their feelings.” 

Peter gives him an apologetic thumbs up.  “Super hearing. Yeah, I forget.”

Silence falls again. A few moments later it’s broken by the soft pattering of rain against the windows. Tony’s actually thankful despite the fact that the brewing clouds make everything go a few shades darker; the silence was beginning to weigh on him like an actual physical presence.

_ Clint looks like hell _ , he thinks, quietly watching him as he continues to stare down at the table. It’s not like the time he got blown up and deafened - there’s no denial and running away from it. This time there’s just acceptance and heartbreak so palpable it’s all Tony can do to just sit there and let it happen.

The rain gets heavier. Jarvis turns the lights on as the light fades and the team continues to sit together in silence.

 

* * *

The rain continues all night and into the next day, casting the world in dull grey shadow that perfectly matches the atmosphere inside the tower. In Tony’s opinion it’s gotten even worse. It’s like everyone has finally realised that Anna is truly gone and the happiness that Clint had found has gone with her. 

The only upside is that people start talking to each other again but it’s stilted and strained and Tony wants to tell them all to shut up. They’re talking for talking’s sake, like it will make everything okay again.

Bucky doesn’t come home.

In the course of the day, Tony returns to his workbench no fewer than five times, and every time he manages to get himself embroiled in a staring match with the encrypted files that could have been used to send Barney Barton to jail. The encrypted files win every time and Tony can only sit there and dejectedly wonder if it would do any good to send them now.

 

* * *

It’s been precisely two hours and six minutes since Tony locked himself in his workshop before he’s rudely interrupted by banging on the glass doors. ‘ _ Hang on, severe deja vu _ ,’ he thinks as he looks up, but this time it’s not Arto and Clint trying to get his attention but Arto and Bruce. Arto looks frantic and Bruce is hastily tapping in his override codes to the door, which is not what Tony wants to see happening.

“What the hell-?”

“Clint is yelling at Steve come and stop him,” Arto babbles as he trips through the door, nearly falling into the engine that Tony had pushed to one side in favour of making suit upgrades for Steve. He catches himself at the last moment, looking anguished. “Tony!”

“What, why?” Tony says, but he’s on his feet anyway. “Why didn’t Jarvis alert me?!”

“He says you had a blackout for the next four hours,” Bruce says, beckoning Tony towards the door. “It’s not bad but we probably need a referee that they’ll both listen to and Natasha and Sam are in New Jersey.”

“Shit,” Tony curses, and points at Arto as he strides towards them. “Don’t you say that. What even happened?!”

“Steve suggested that we do something to have Barney taken out of the equation?” Bruce says, jogging up the stairs with the Stark and Stark-Rogers duo chasing after him. “I don’t know, he said we could probably have Barney arrested and Clint just blew his lid.”

Tony’s jaw literally drops. “He did not,” he says, appalled and amazed and a little bit proud all at once. Trust Steve to outmaneuver them all again by doing exactly what they didn’t expect. Well, that is what Tony gets for being married to a tactical genius who is not exactly as squeaky-clean as he first appears. “Steve, you idiot.”

“He’s trying to help!” Arto yells at him, but then they’re on the communal floor and there’s more yelling which easily drowns Arto out. Steve is standing behind the counter with his hands braced on the smooth wood, and Clint is over by the TV and looking like he’s about to start shooting. It’s a lot like how he looked when he and Bucky turned up to destroy robots at the Baxter Building. 

“You can’t just make up some bullshit to have him arrested, that’s not fair!” Clint shouts, either not noticing or caring about his new audience. “You’re - You - Captain America is not supposed to have ideas like that! We’re supposed to have ideas like that and you’re supposed to talk us out of them!”

“It’s not making it up if he’s done it,” Steve replies shortly. “And I’m not in uniform right now.”

“You’re still Captain America, shut up with that shit!”

“Whoa, time out, both of you!” Tony shouts over them, spreading out his hands and belatedly realising he’s still got a wrench in one of them. He grimaces and shoves it into his pocket before resuming his pose. Damn, it would be more effective with repulsors. “Clint, stop shouting at Steve - getting Barney arrested was my idea and Steve said no, so stop blaming him.”

Clint stares at him, mouth working as he tries to find words. “Your idea?!”

“I ran him through the Stark security systems,” Tony says. “And found information that would implicate him in a lot of shit, Clint. I asked Steve what to do and he said not to do anything until we’d talked to you.”

That takes the wind out of Clint’s sails. He gapes at Tony for a while and then slumps down heavily onto the couch, face covering his hands. “You can't,” he begins, throwing out a hand in frustration. “You can't just have my brother arrested!”

“If he’s done something illegal we can,” Arto pipes up.

“Arto, not now,” Steve says. “Go to your room, please.”

Arto rears back. “What? No!”

“Arto, you heard him,” Tony says. “Thanks for getting me pal but you don’t need to be here for this conversation.”

“What, and let the grown-ups handle it?” Arto snaps, face going red. “You just yell at each other!”

“And you don’t need to hear that,” Steve says. “We’ll be fine. Go.”

“Just because you don’t want me to hear that you’ve done something you’d probably yell at me for,” Arto says hotly, and then he’s storming off and away.

Tony watches him go. “Well, he’s not wrong.”

“I can't believe you,” Clint says. “Running him through Stark Security?”

“That’s seriously illegal, Tony,” Bruce says pointedly. 

“I know! Well, Steve pointed out it was probably illegal-”

“And unethical.”

“Yes, and unethical, so we decided not to do anything with the information, which begs the question why the hell did you tell Clint we had anything on Barney!”

Steve’s eyes flick to Clint. “Wanted to get a reaction out of you,” Steve says. “You’ve been walking around like a condemned man since we got back. I wanted to see if you were getting over it or not.”

“Clearly not!” Clint snaps. 

“Cruel,” Bruce remarks, and Steve shrugs.

“Okay, let’s make a pact that if Steve ever starts to lean towards supervillain, we shut him down right away,” Tony says, raising his hand. “That was practically diabolical.” 

“Seconded,” Clint says bitterly. “Steve, you can be such an asshole.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “I’m just - I don’t know. Trying to help.”

“What, like Tony is trying to help by having my brother arrested?” Clint says.

“Come on, he deserves it,” Tony says.

“Then so do we all!” Clint’s voice starts riding again. “You can't judge him and then-”

And Clint abruptly stops yelling, like his vocal chords have simply stopped working. His eyes go from Tony to something behind Tony, and Tony’s heart slams up into the base of his throat as he whirls around, hands raised instinctively-

Just in time to see Bucky step out of the elevator doors, with a very tiny, very familiar figure set on his hip.

“What the hell is going on?” Bucky frowns, hitching up his small charge and looking at them like they’re the unreasonable ones when all they were doing was yelling at other instead of _stepping out of the goddamn elevator with the baby._

Clint is the first to recover. Scratch that - Clint is the first to regain the ability to make sounds, which isn’t exactly recovery of all mental faculties if the look on his face is anything to go by. “What the actual fuck,” he manages to say.

“Ba!” Anna squeals, her whole face lighting up as she spots Clint. She beams, lifting a chubby hands towards him and wiping the other across Bucky’s leather jacket. “Ba!” 

  
  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

Tony thinks he’s possibly going through a full brain reboot.

He stands and stares at Anna Barton, who seems perfectly content to be sat on Bucky’s hip and held in place by the metal arm, babbling away at Clint and beaming across the room at him. She keeps reaching out towards him and making demanding little ‘buh’ sounds. She looks exactly the same as she did when she left a few days ago, albeit in a different outfit. A yellow onesie covered in ducks instead of the purple Hawkeye one. 

Tony’s so busy fixating on the fuzzy ducks on Anna’s feet that he almost misses the second figure that shifts from behind Bucky, stepping out of the elevator with hands shoved in his pockets and head lowered.

This time Clint’s “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK,” is a lot louder and more forceful. There’s a collective intake of breath and Tony hastily steps between Steve and the newcomer just to be safe.

“Hey,” Barney Barton says, voice rough. He looks - well, if Bucky had looked exhausted, Barney looks like he’s about to keel over and _die_.

“What the actual fuck,” Clint repeats.

“Okay, rule one is no yelling,” Bucky says evenly. “I’ve done the yelling part. You sound like you were all having a great time yelling at each other, I'm usually up for that. But baby is here so no more yelling.”

He says it completely calmly but in that unnerving way he has that makes Tony feel like anyone who breaks the rule will be eviscerated. He shoots Bucky a thumbs up. “You gottit Terminator, the yelling is over. We will instead talk quietly and calmly about what the actual fuck is going on.”

“Yes, what Tony said,” Steve repeats, sounding strangled. He’s staring at the baby like he’s never seen one before in his life. Tony knows that’s not true, he’s asked to hold them at photo ops all the time. Though come to think of it, he usually says no or makes excuses. Hang on - is Captain America afraid of babies?

He mentally shakes himself out of it, because he’s got bigger issues right now.

“What are you doing here, Barney?” Bruce says. He’s also gone quiet and calm which instantly puts Tony on alert, because Bruce is possibly forcing himself to be quiet and calm which is a warning sign in itself.

“He’s with me,” Bucky says before Barney can even open his mouth. “We’re going to sit down, all have coffee together and listen to what Barney has got to say.”

“Coffee,” Steve repeats.

“Mark me down for something stronger,” Tony says and Steve doesn’t even comment, just nods and then abruptly turns away towards the coffee maker. 

“Have you been with him the whole time?” Clint blurts out. He’s still not moved from his position in front of the couch.

“Ba,” Anna interrupts, now sounding testy. Bucky shushes her, bouncing her up and down on his hip and turning to look at Barney. He gestures towards the lowered seating area and Barney shuffles from foot to foot and then nods warily, making his way across the room.

“He caught up with me just outside of Harrisburg,” he says, sitting down. His eyes slide to Anna, watching as she continues to fuss. Bucky grimaces and shifts her up so they’re eye to eye.

“Caught up with both of you, didn’t I?” he says, and Anna reaches for him instead, grabbing his nose and his cheek in her hands, feet kicking madly. “Yeah alright little lady, that’s my face, yep.”

Clint doesn’t look at all pacified by anything either of the men are saying. “Bucky, please explain what the goddamn hell you’re goddamn doing before I have a goddamn aneurysm.”

“Alright, alright, unbunch your panties,” Bucky says, and leans back to gently pull his face from Anna’s sticky grip. He steps towards Clint, holding Anna out but Clint just shakes his head violently, stepping back away from her. Bucky doesn’t press it, just goes over to sit down next to Barney, passing Anna back to him. 

Tony’s heart does a funny twist inside his ribcage, a flutter of panic because  _Barney has the baby back_. He hates it, and he hates the fact that he doesn't know what’s going on here. His brain is trying to work out what happened to get them to this point, mapping out possible futures now they are here-

A hand on his shoulder stops the frantic turning of his over-wired brain; Steve leans in and presses a coffee into his hands, then fleetingly kisses him before nudging him towards the couches. He goes, stepping slowly down into the seating area with his eyes fixed on Barney like he’s an arrested villain that is just biding his time, waiting to pull some stunt just before backup arrives.

The others join the party too, apparently unwilling to leave. Bruce sits next to Tony and after he’s handed out coffees, Steve stands behind them both, arms folded like he’s a bouncer at a nightclub. It makes him look intimidating as all fuck and that’s even without factoring in the look on his face. It’s pretty satisfying to see the borderline nervous look that Barney gives Steve; he swallows hard and deliberately looks back down at his drink. 

“Start talking,” Clint says, sitting on the edge of one of the loungers, twisting his wedding ring round and round on his finger, the same automatic stress response that Tony and Steve both have. 

“I,” Barney begins and clears his throat. “Jeez, quit staring at me like that, Clint.”

Tony can't help himself. “I don’t think you’re in any place to say how we’re allowed to look at you.”

Barney utterly ignores him, but he does start talking. “Barnes caught up with me,” he says. “Said he wanted to talk.”

“Talk?” Steve echoes doubtfully.

A range of skeptical looks are exchanged and Tony braces himself for having to get the lawyers back out again. “Did he threaten you?”

“What?” Barney asks, frowning at Tony. “No, he didn’t threaten me.”

“Did he stab you at all?”

“I behaved,” Bucky says with an epic eye roll, reaching out with a steadying hand as Anna crawls off of Barney’s lap and onto the couch, planting face-first into the cushions. “Let him talk.”

Everyone obediently shuts up. Tony mimes zipping his lips together. Barney takes a deep breath but then seems to feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on him and he jerks back as if he can shake it away. “Do we have to do this with the audience?” he asks Clint.

“Yes,” Clint replies, voice hard. “These guys are my family and you keep fucking with me and my family, so you can explain to all of us why the hell you just turned up with my husband and - and the baby, thanks.”

The look he shoots both Barney and Bucky is full of venom and Tony internally winces. Barney refuses to look back at him but Bucky just gazes steadfastly back, expression neutral but  _ almost _ apologetic. Not quite, though. 

“Husband,” Barney echoes. “Never going to get used to you saying that.”

“Barney!”

“Alright, alright. So, apparently I misjudged the guy,” Barney says, gesturing vaguely at Bucky. “Yeah, we’ve all heard the Winter Soldier horror stories and the whole world knows he’s damn good at kicking ass when he has to, but that’s - like I said, I misjudged him.”

“Story of my life, pal,” Bucky says, taking pity on Anna and lifting her out of the cushions, sitting her up. She beams, leaning forwards to grab hold of her own feet. 

“And I misjudged myself,” Barney adds. “I’m - I thought that taking Anna would be the best thing for me, but I’m not cut out for it. I don’t - I don’t feel right about keeping her.”

Clint draws in a shocked breath. For his part, Tony is holding his, waiting for the next part. Is this really happening? Is what he hoped for actually about to happen? Barney needs to start talking quicker because seriously Tony thinks his heart will give out from the stress. 

It’s Steve who responds first. “You can’t always expect that to happen straight away,” he says, being very careful with his words. “Take it from someone who knows.”

Barney huffs out an almost laugh. “I heard about that,” he says. “Barnes told me about you and your kid, was - was helpful to hear, actually. But I don’t think it’s the same. I wanted to prove something to you guys and myself but...using her to prove that point isn’t going to work out. I’m - I’m not-”

He breaks out and lets out another self-deprecating laugh. “Trying to admit to being a criminal is hard when you’ve got the world’s mightiest heroes staring you down.”

“We know about that,” Clint says. “You think you’d be able to hide any of it from us when we’ve got Tony goddamn Stark manning National Security Systems?”

Barney grimaces. “Am I about to be arrested?”

“We decided on no,” Steve says. “But I guess it depends on you.”

Barney nods slowly but he looks a little vacant, like he’s not really listening. “Clint,” he says quietly. “Please can we go somewhere without the audience.”

And Clint is staring at him and then nodding, jerkily nodding his head towards the stairs. Barney scoops up Anna and then follows without looking back.

“What the hell did you do?” Steve bursts out the moment they’re gone, looking at Bucky. Tony takes his phone out of his pocket, fully intending to trace the Bartons and listen in to their conversation, but Steve reaches over without even looking at him and takes it, shoving the phone into his own pocket. Well, rude. Steve doesn't even seem to notice his rudeness and carries on berating Bucky instead. “Bucky - you can’t just bully him into handing the baby over!”

“I did no such fucking thing,” Bucky retorts, heading to the fridge and pulling a beer out. “When I got there he was so grateful to see me that he nearly cried. All of this was his idea, I just helped him fine-tune some of the planning. And also told him that if he ever spoke to Clint like that again I would maybe not be so nice.”

“You threatened him and he still listened to you?”

“I alluded to maybe being threatening in the future,” Bucky says, pointing his beer bottle at them to prove his point. “Wow, did I sound like Natasha when I said that?”

“Way too much like Natasha,” Tony informs him, trying to slip his hand into Steve's pocket without him noticing. It doesn't work. “It makes you scarier than ever, please never do it again.”

“I don’t fully understand,” Bruce says, avoiding the joking around with his usual level-headed tact. “Barney was determined to keep Anna once he’d seen her.”

“Yeah and then we were sat in a shady ass motel on the i-eighty-one, talking about tragic backstories and then some shady ass motherfucker knocked on the door and told Barney some shit about moving on to the job in Pittsburgh. He comes in, spots the baby and then backtracks out of the room. Two hours later and more shady motherfuckers turn up, basically threatening him, saying about him being unreliable because of the ‘weak-spot’.”

“Oh, no,” Steve mutters.

“What did you do?” Tony asks.

“Those guys I  _ did  _ threaten,” Bucky concedes. “Very directly. Told them if anyone even so much as talked about the baby like that then I’d introduce them to my favorite knife. They were busy blubbering and then Barney comes out of nowhere and says the baby isn’t even his, she’s his brother's and the Avengers - Winter Soldier included - are all looking out for her. We got rid of the guys - no, alive, Steve don’t look like that, we just dropped them on the side of the interstate, I’m not a monster - anyway, we got rid of them and then he turns to me and says he meant it, he wants us to have her, he’s not cut out for it. He admitted he was pretty in deep with a few groups of shady motherfuckers and if he wanted to get out they’d probably try and get at him so Anna couldn’t stay even if he wanted her to.”

“ _ Did _ he want her to stay?” Bruce asks.

“Honestly?” Bucky pauses. “I don’t know. Everytime he looked at her he just seemed to get...sad.”

“Is he going to try and get himself straight at all?” Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs. “No idea. It’s probably easier for him not to at this point and I think he quite likes the whole money thing he’s got going on. Crime pays, apparently. Better than being an Avenger does.”

“We’re rich in moral superiority,” Tony says distractedly. “Well, you guys are. I’m just rich. Can I turn on the security feed for the Bartons yet? Don't look at me like that, Steven, you know I can do it without my phone-”

“No snooping,” Bucky says, wandering back to collapse on the couch. “We are going to sit here patiently, and calmly wait for them to talk it out.”

Tony gestures at himself, Bruce and Steve. “You just looked at the three of us and uttered the words patient and calm without laughing.”

Bucky seems to consider that. “Yeah, maybe not the best choices. Sit your ass down, Steve, come on.”

And he kicks his feet up onto the coffee table, turns the TV on and slouches down, the perfect picture of calm patience. Tony is forcibly reminded of him saying _‘I could be an inch away from heartbreak or not give a shit and you’ll not be able to tell,'_  and looks to Steve for guidance. Steve looks less than convinced - ha, Tony knew Bucky was faking it - but sits down nevertheless, pulling on his own wedding ring where it sits on the chain around his neck. He zips it back and forth, a familiar and comforting sound. With not many other options that won't end in yelling open to him, Tony gives in and sits down, trying out Bucky's whole calm and patient thing.

It’s two episodes of Brooklyn 99 later and a lot of unbearable waiting around that something finally happens. The elevator doors slide open and Clint steps out, suspiciously red eyed and with Anna in his arms. She’s blinking sleepily and resting her tiny head on his shoulder, fingers in her mouth as she absently chews on them.

Bucky is on his feet in less than a second. The others all follow - Tony grabs hold of Steve’s arm without thinking about it, his breath held and heart thudding frantically-

“She’s staying with me,” Clint says hoarsely. “We talked it out and she’s staying.”

There’s a beat of absolute silence, tension that could shatter like glass-

“Yes!” Bruce shouts, hands in the air. Anna jerks at the noise and Clint glares reproachfully at Bruce, who is grinning from ear to ear.

“Sorry,” he whispers, waving apologetically. “Sorry, just excited.”

“You were not a fan of the baby when she got here,” Clint says suspiciously. 

“She grew on me,” Bruce says, still beaming.

“Yeah she grew on all of us,” Tony says, and finds himself laughing with sheer giddy joy. “Where’s Barney?”

“He’s in the conference room,” Clint says. “We need to borrow a lawyer, but I wanted to come and...”

His eyes meet Bucky’s as he says it and he trails off helplessly. Bucky is staring at them both with naked longing on his face and Clint smiles weakly at him. “If she’s mine, she’s yours too,” he says.

Bucky lets out a strangled laugh and walks over, reaching for Anna and gently lifting her out of Clint’s arms, shushing her as he settles her against his chest. “If anyone tries to her take away from me, I will murder them from the kneecaps up,” he says calmly, pressing a kiss to dark fluffy hair. 

“Murder is frowned upon,” Steve says automatically and Tony has to clamp his hands over his mouth to stop himself laughing hysterically. 

“Murder is acceptable when protecting the baby,” Bucky says, his mouth still pressed to Anna’s head. 

“Seconded,” Clint says, leaning in to gently kiss Bucky’s jaw. Bucky leans into it and Tony sees the emotion that plays over his face, knowing all too well how it feels to be that guy who has suddenly found himself with the family that he never thought he'd have. 

He hopes it feels as awesome for Bucky as it did for him.

“So, celebrating?” Tony suggests.

“Lawyer first,” Clint says.

“Lawyer,” Bucky agrees. “And Steve, come and meet my baby, you haven’t met the baby, come and look how cute she is, tell me she’s not the cutest motherfucker you’ve ever seen.”

Steve laughs, walking over to Bucky and grinning just like Bruce still is. “Hi baby,” Steve says, but then his expression goes abruptly more alarmed as Bucky simply hands Anna over. His entire body - usually completely at ease and under his control- goes stiff and awkward, an utter contrast to how Bucky is with the baby.

“Just mind her head, she’ll throw her weight back-” Bucky is saying, laughing at Steve as he does. “Oh come on Steve, she’s only a baby.”

Steve nods and relaxes, shoulders going soft and back slouching slightly. It's like someone has just shouted  _ ‘at ease, soldier’ _ at him, his whole body going lax just like  _ that _ .  He nods again, blowing out a breath. “I got her,” he says, looking down at her in wonder. She makes a few disgruntled noises but settles down soon enough, eyelids drooping.

“Wow,” Steve says, cradling her in one arm and touching the back of her hand with a finger. “So, you’re staying, huh?” he says gently to her. “Yeah? You’ll have both your dads wrapped around your little finger in no time.”

“I think she already does, ” Tony says. “You okay?”

“Mmm,” Steve says, brow furrowing thoughtfully. “Hey, you know how I was wondering if we’d missed out because we didn’t have Arto from a baby?”

“Yeah?”

“I take it back, she’s so small and I’m terrified, Bucky please take her back.”

Bucky and Tony both burst into laughter, and Clint is the one to step in and relieve Steve of his tiny charge. He holds her close, eyes closing for a long moment as he just takes it all in. 

“So, lawyering up?” Tony offers, waving his phone at Clint and Bucky.

They exchange a look and then Clint nods. “Yeah,” he says, smiling tiredly. “Lawyering up.”

  
  


* * *

Tony decides to be supervising adult while the agreements surrounding baby Barton - Anna, he feels like it’s safe enough to call her Anna again now - are drawn up. Apparently it’s pretty standard transfer of guardianship paperwork, though Clint is looking more and more worried as time goes on, fiddling intermittently with both his wedding ring and an arrow that he’s refusing to put down.

“Clint?” Bucky spots the nervousness, of course he does. He nudges Clint with his elbow as best he can while holding onto  Anna. She’s fast asleep in his arms, her own arms thrown up in the air like she did that time she slept on the couch. Tony likes to think she’s cheering the outcome of the wrangling today. He’s poetic like that.

“Just - this has to be approved by a court, right?” Clint says, eyes glued to the papers that Barney is reading. “What if they decide I’m not a fit guardian?”

“Don’t worry,” Aniya from legal says. Tony loves Aniya from legal because she’s super intelligent and super efficient and she once got FOX news to apologize for that time they harassed Steve and Arto outside Starbucks. “We had to go through all this to ensure you would be awarded guardianship of Arto if anything were to happen to Stark or Rogers. You’re approved for that, so providing you don’t do anything catastrophically stupid in the near future, you’ll be fine.”

“Told you,” Tony says. 

“What about Bucky?” Clint presses. “What if someone decides-”

Aniya actually snorts. “Barnes is literally in the hands of the three best lawyers in the world. Several billion dollars have been spent very wisely to make sure no-one can say squat about anything he’s done prior to the events of Washington. So, if  _ he  _ can behave and not do anything catastrophically stupid in the near future, he’ll be fine.” 

Bucky looks startled at that. “Billions of dollars?”

Tony just shrugs. “If it makes this moment less gross, I spent it because Steve was sad as shit? Not because I liked you in the slightest.”

“Well that’s okay then,” Bucky shrugs. He looks back down to Anna, stroking her fingers with one of his metal ones. “See, no-one is going to split us up, I will steal the rest of Tony’s money to keep you here if I have to.”

Barney has gone from reading the papers to watching Bucky, expression contemplative. “Yeah, I seriously misjudged you,” he says. “Well, mostly. You’re still a fucking maniac, Barnes, but you’re good with kids.”

“Hidden talents,” Bucky says. “I promise I’m only going to use my most homicidal abilities to keep her safe.”

“Well, you’ve looked after this dummy so far,” Barney says, pointing at Clint.

“Hey!”

“You are a dummy,” Barney says. “But you’re a good dummy, Clint.”

And with that, he takes a deep breath and then picks up the pen to sign the papers. One, two, three and four signatures and then he’s sliding the papers across to Clint. He looks relieved, more than anything, Tony thinks. Still exhausted, but mostly relieved.

There’s a knocking at the door and Tony goes to answer it. He cracks the door and finds Steve and Arto just outside, with Peter lurking just behind them. Arto is practically vibrating with excitement; If Steve’s hands weren’t firmly on his shoulders then Tony suspects he’d be on the goddamn ceiling.

“We’re almost wrapped up,” Tony says, wedging himself in the doorway so Arto can’t just charge on in like he’s sometimes wont to do.

“Can I come in?” Arto begs. “Please, I want to see her, can I see her, Tony, please, can I see her-”

“You can’t rush us Smart-Art, we’ve got to do this properly,” Tony says. “Paperwork is important, yes, I am aware of the irony of that statement coming out of my mouth. Come on, let’s go make pancakes and then everyone will be down, come on.”

Between him and Steve they manage to get Arto and Peter down to the communal area. It’s like herding cats, but then Steve suggests that the boys take point on re-baby-proofing the tower. They take to the task with gusto, removing anything dangerous and taping up all the steps and securing all the cupboards. Bruce sits at the counter watching them with amusement and Steve is trying to help with pancakes, which mostly means stealing fruit and getting in the way.

The terrible twosome are in the process of decommissioning the lounger chairs -  _ “hinges, they have hinges,” _ Arto had said, appalled and a little bit hysterical - when the Barton-Barnes family appear. The lawyer is absent and Barney is also nowhere to be seen.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Clint Barton-Barnes and Anna Barton-Barnes,” Bucky says, grinning from ear to ear and gesturing to Clint and the baby with a flourish.

“That is in no way legal yet,” Tony points out. “And did Clint even take your name when you got hitched?”

“No he didn’t but I’m happy, sue me,” Bucky shrugs. 

“Where’s Barney?” Steve asks.

“He left,” Clint says, looking as relieved as Barney had done while handing Anna over. “He signed the papers and I told him that we’d delete everything we had on him so he could go and not worry about it.”

Tony pulls a face. “I feel like letting him get away with it is like basically aiding and abetting-”

“Not our decision,” Steve says quietly. “Tony.”

“Alright,” Tony concedes. “Terminator, you swing by later and we’ll deal with the files, you and your scary murder-eyes as my witness. But let’s make this very clear, I am not taking this as a lesson learned in sitting back and doing nothing, because that sucked.”

“Whatever you say,” Bucky says, his attention already turning elsewhere. “Hey, Art, you wanna-”

Arto is there already. He sidles right up next to Clint, staring at Anna with his mouth hanging open. Tony doesn’t look around as he feels Steve edge up behind him and take his hand, but he does squeeze Steve’s fingers in reply as they both watch Clint hand Anna over to Arto. Tony’s heart swells in his chest like he’s the goddamn grinch, so ridiculously proud of big-brother Arto that he doesn’t know what to do with himself except cling onto Steve’s hand.

Arto stares down at Anna and then promptly bursts into tears.

“Shit!”

Steve dives over straight away and Tony is hot on his heels. Clint is already there, making to take Anna back but Arto is shaking his head through his tears. “I’m just so happy she’s back,” he sobs, turning to bury his face in Steve’s chest, still holding Anna securely in his arms. 

“You tragic little meatball,” Tony says, his own eyes feeling too warm. Arto lasts another few minutes and then passes Anna back; Bucky takes her and grins at Steve as Arto clings to him, still crying into his chest.

The moment settles, hilarious and over-emotional and  _ right _ , feeling exactly like home. Tony pulls out his phone and carefully snaps a picture, getting Clint, Bucky and Anna right in the middle, with Steve, Arto and Peter in the wings.

“Send me that,” Bucky says immediately, and Tony shoots him a thumbs up. He attaches the photo to a message, then sends it to not only Bucky but also Rhodey, Pepper, Jane, Thor, Lilya, Phil, Nat and Sam.         

“Did you just send that to everyone?” Steve asks, amused. 

Tony shoves his phone back in his pocket, even as it starts to vibrate with replies. “Of course,” he says, as Arto muscles his way under Tony’s arm. He and Steve end up standing face to face with Arto sandwiched between them, their arms tight around his shoulders.

“Don’t worry” Tony says, kissing the back of Arto’s head. “You’re still the original tower baby.”

“You’re so weird,” Arto grouches into Steve’s chest.

“Yeah,” Tony says, holding his family close and watching Bucky do exactly the same across the other side of the room. “But what can you do?”

  
  


* * *

 

**_Three months later_ **

And the tower is chaos.

Steve, Arto and Sam had arrived back from their run with donuts in hand, so the communal area has been descended on by literally  _ everyone _ in a manner both efficient and terrifying. The TV is on and blaring out Batman cartoons that nobody's really watching, someone's phone is ringing incessantly and Anna is crying louder than both.

“Boston creme, hand it over, Rogers,” Bucky says, attempting to feed Anna another spoon of yogurt. She bats it away, slumping forwards in her high-chair and burying her face in her tiny little arms and continuing to sob. “Oh come on sweetheart, you’re not having biscuits for breakfast, we’ve been over this.”

“Want me to try?” Arto calls through a mouthful of crumbs and frosting. Bucky shrugs and hands over both the yogurt and plastic spoon and Arto hunkers down next to him, crooning softly at Anna.

“When’s Clint back?” Pepper asks, donut in one hand and coffee in the other. Tony reaches for the coffee but she lifts it out of his reach. Damn, five inch heels. Tony needs repulsor boots to compete with those.

“Any time now,” Tony says, checking his phone. “He had his appointment at ten.”

“Nervous?” Pepper asks him.

“No,” Tony says honestly and gestures to Bucky and Arto. “If anyone wants to take Anna they’ve got to go through those guys.”

“And we’ve got good lawyers,” Steve’s voice says. He arrives next to Tony, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Yeah, and that, Steve, you’re seriously gross right now,” Tony complains. “Go and shower.”

“Coffee first,” Steve says. “You should have come, it’s a beautiful day.”

“Hard pass,” Tony says. “Hey, when are you flying out?”

“Don’t need to be in Berlin until tomorrow afternoon, so not until tonight, after Arto’s gone to bed.”

“Steve. Did you miss the part where he’s sixteen and too cool for bedtimes.”

“Okay, after Arto has gone up to his room and we pretend like he’s gone to bed while he plays on his X-box until three AM,” Steve corrects. “Bucky was down to come with me but I’ve got a  funny feeling he’ll want to stay here with Anna and Clint, so I’ll take Rhodey or Nat.”

“I’ll come, Arto can stay with Barnes and Barton,” Tony says. “It’s been a while since you and I have had a good old-fashioned mission together.”

“It has,” Steve says, leaning in to kiss Tony’s temple. “Yeah, if Bucky and Clint will have Arto, that’ll be nice.”

“Only you two would plan a trip to Berlin fighting terrorists as date night,” Pepper says, caught between exasperation and fondness.

“Wrong,” Tony says, pointing a finger at her. “Nat and Sam do too.”

“And Clint and Bucky,” Steve adds, having to raise his voice to be heard over the increasing noise in the rest of the room.

Pepper rolls her eyes. “Okay, you’re all strange and dysfunctional, congratulations.”

There’s the sound of something breaking over in the kitchen and Jane shouting apologies, followed by much laughter. The noise levels in the room rack up another notch; it’s as if everyone is dealing with the stress and the not-knowing by being super obnoxious. Tony winces as Anna lets out a full-on tantrum shriek and the phone starts to ring again. Bucky is now arguing about whether beer for breakfast is acceptable; Thor is on his side though everyone else is not. Lilya is getting increasingly annoyed trying to find the salmon in the fridge but Tony knows full well that Steve ate it the day before. Now covered in yogurt, Arto is giving up on Anna’s breakfast and has eyes locked on the donut that’s in Pepper’s hand. He needs to go and shower, if they leave him much longer he’ll put it off forever-

And there’s a sudden shout and then all the ruckus just  _ stops _ . The shouting and bickering and laughter all dies as if someone has muted everyone. Someone goes as far as to hastily wave the TV off and even  _ Anna _ stops with her grouching.

“Honey, I’m home,” Clint calls, jogging up the steps with a starbucks cup in one hand and a thin paper file in the other. He’s busy looking at it and only glances up when he’s already three steps into the room; he does a literal double take as he spots them all standing there staring at him. “Whoa, was not expecting so many people, what's going on?”

“Waiting for you,” Bucky says, swinging Anna out of her highchair. “Verdict?”

And Clint breaks into a grin, waving the file. “Signed, sealed and approved. I am a legal guardian.”

The room erupts into cheers and applause and Clint’s grin gets even wider, his cheeks going pink. “Thanks for the lawyers, Tony,” he says as he goes over to Bucky and Anna, leaning in to kiss her on her nose.

“Welcome,” Tony says, waving him off. Paying for Clint’s lawyers was practically pocket change when he considers that he’s also paid for Bucky’s and Bruce’s. And Steve’s, come to think of it. Steve is not as chill as most people think he should be, and he’s the one with the reputation that needs to be kept intact-

“Please tell me you did not wear that suit to the hearing,” Bucky is saying, despair written all over his face.

“What? Yeah, I thought I looked smart and like a competent adult,” Clint says, smoothing his hands down the front of his shirt, straightening his tie self-consciously. 

Bucky replies by poking at a hole in the shoulder of the suit, exasperated. Clint twists to look at it and then his face falls.

“Aw, bullet hole, no.”

Tony nearly chokes on his coffee. “Clint!”

“Okay in my defense I forgot this was the one with the bullet hole in,” Clint says, batting Bucky’s finger away and turning to grasp Thor’s hand in a celebratory handshake. He carries on talking over his shoulder as Jane accosts him next, pulling him into a rib-crushing hug. “Didn’t make any difference anyway, they thought I was awesome.”

He gets caught up in accepting congratulations from the others, smiling so wide that he looks like a literal ray of sunshine. Tony knows how stressed he’s been over the past few weeks, waiting for this moment to come so it’s nice to see him happy about the win.

Clint’s so busy high-fiving and hugging that he misses Anna reaching for him, nearly tipping herself out of Bucky’s arms. Bucky hastily puts her down, holding onto both of her hands as she determinedly wobbles towards Clint’s shins. She gets around three steps and then lets herself drop, swinging deadweight from Bucky’s hands until he gently lets her go with a rueful smile. She crawls her way over to Clint and clambers up over his converse, pulling at his pants and looking up at him indignantly.

“Da,” she insists. “Da!”

Clint laughs and swoops down to pick her up, kissing her noisily all over her face so she shrieks with laughter. 

“Okay Avengers and friends, a celebration is in order,” Tony calls. “Are we going out or staying-”

The words are barely out of his mouth before he’s interrupted by the insistent blaring of the Avengers alarm. Arto yells right along with it, clapping his hands over his ears. Anna lets out a cry and clutches hold of Clint, her face crumpling.

“Oh goddamn it!” Bucky curses, rushing over to Clint and Anna, putting a protective arm around them both. Tony braces himself and sure enough Arto hits him about three seconds later, clinging to him fiercely.

“Captain Rogers, acknowledging,” Steve yells at the ceiling and the alarm cuts out.

“Rogers,” Fury’s voice rings out, crisp and determined. “Uncontained interdimensional portal observed in the Potomac near Langley.”

“Did you just say  _ in _ the Potomac?” Tony gasps, not because he’s shocked about the underwater portal but because Arto is still gripping onto him and  _ still  _ doesn't know his own strength. He pats Arto on the shoulder and thankfully he gets the hint and lessens his grip.

“About three feet below the surface,” Fury says. “That gonna be a problem?”

“Depends what’s coming out of the uncontained interdimensional portal,” Steve says, and pulls his already-buzzing phone from his pocket, grimacing as he looks at the photo he’s evidently been sent. “Aliens. Of course it is. They friendly?”

“Not in the slightest,” Fury says grimly. “Civilian casualties at thirty-eight wounded, one fatality. SHIELD are evacuating.”

“Alright, we’re on our way, full team response,” Steve says curtly.

“Acknowledged,” Fury says, then he’s gone. 

“Alright team, who’s staying?” Steve calls. Bucky and Clint have a brief wordless conversation and then Bucky raises his hand. “Not a fan of swimming in the Potomac,” he says. “Been there, done that, right Steve?”

“Yeah, I seem to remember something about brainwashed-you trying to drown me in it,” Steve says dryly and everyone in the room except Bucky winces. Well, Tony thinks, at least Steve and Bucky are over that whole thing where Bucky tried to murder him. Nevermind that it makes everyone else feel like a nine on the awkward scale. 

“Alright, enough joking around, I need one more to stay with Bucky,” Steve says and Phil raises his hand. 

“I’ll stay,” he says calmly. “I can activate tower lockdown the moment you all leave.”

“Good,” Steve says. “And will you inform the  WSC that the trip to Berlin is postponed? Okay, Thor, Iron Man, War Machine - you're acting as first response, I want you to get going right away. Iron Man, the minute you're there I want everyone to have HUD schematics, please. Falcon, Widow, Hulk - jet one. Jane, can you pilot and man the comms? Hawkeye, you’re with me, we’ll take jet two. Lilya, Pepper - are you staying or going before we lock down? Okay, Phil, they’re staying with you. Everyone move, lift off in twenty minutes.”

Everyone does as they're told, abandoning food and drinks in favor of heading to the lifts or stairs, already in mission mode. 

“Wow, you’re so sexy when you take charge,” Tony says to Steve, grinning at the way Arto groans. He squeezes him gently. “You okay, Smart-art?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I want to stay and look after Anna,” Arto says, letting go of Tony and stepping back, jaw set in a very Steve-esque manner. “Go beat up bad guys.”

“Sure thing,” Steve says, and leans in to kiss Arto’s forehead. To Tony's surprise, Arto actually allows it. He's even more taken aback when Arto then turns his face so Tony can drop one on him too. 

“Art, I need you,” Bucky calls and Arto gives them both one last hug before darting over to Bucky, reaching out to take Anna. Bucky thanks him and then turns to Clint. They talk briefly in low, serious voices and then Bucky leans in to quickly kiss him goodbye.

“See, and you thought family and Avengering wouldn’t mix,” Tony says, nudging Steve with his elbow. “This is like a well oiled machine, look at us go.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Steve warns, but he’s smiling faintly. “Hey look, date night killing aliens. Not bad, hey?”

“Fifty bucks says I kill more aliens than you.”

“You’re on,” Steve says.

“We’re terrible role models,” Tony muses, watching Steve watch Arto. He nudges him again. “You sure you don’t want to be team stay-at-home husbands?” 

“Nah, Bucky’s got it covered,” Steve says easily, then raises his voice. “Hey, Buck, you ever going to go anywhere without her ever again?”

“I went to the store yesterday,” Bucky says, with a raised middle finger to underscore his point. “So shove it. Now go on your mission for god’s sake. Just promise me one thing?”

Tony lifts an eyebrow at Steve who just shrugs. Fine, he’ll bite. “What’s that?”

“Don’t let Clint find or accidentally acquire any more damn children, man’s like a freaking magpie,” Bucky says, and jerks a thumb over his shoulder towards the two already-accidentally-acquired children. “Two’s enough for now.”

Tony laughs out loud at that, shoots Bucky a thumbs up. “Yeah,” he says, smiling fondly at Arto and Anna where they stand waving the rest of the family goodbye. “We’ll do our best.”


End file.
